


Episode 199.5

by posingasme



Series: Before 200... [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demon Blood, Gen, M/M, Mark of Cain, Protective Dean Winchester, Stolen Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 56,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is dealing with guilt, and fear of losing control to the Mark again.<br/>Castiel has new Grace, but eventually, it will burn out just as before.<br/>Sam just wants a fresh start all around.<br/>Life in the bunker is getting a bit...crowded. </p><p>Memories and tempers are boiling over,<br/>along with something that has been heating up for a long time.</p><p>Things get nasty when an old foe comes for Sam, and it's all hands on deck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bell the Cas

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after 10x04 Paper Moon. There will be spoilers through season ten, so read only when caught up.
> 
> Divergent from canon until then only in that Castiel still has use of his wings.

The thing that drove Dean crazy about Castiel staying in the bunker was that the guy didn't make noise when he walked. Just this morning, he had dropped a bottle of good beer crashing to the floor as his hands flew to the 1911 in his waistband.

Castiel had frowned at him in that damn head-cocked, eyes-narrowed way of his that made Dean want to slap the stubble off his stupid angel face.

"Dean," the gravel voice said very slowly.  The lips paused as the tip of Castiel's tongue flicked over them. "Dean," he tried again, "I have very little regard for your concept of time zones, but..." The accusing tone faded off, but the blue eyes seemed to look through him down to his guiltiest places.

Dean gritted his teeth as he replaced the safety on his .45, tucking it back into its place under his shirt at the small of his back. "Yes, jackass, I'm drinking before nine this morning. You're as bad as Sam, you know that?  Like I don't know what you two are getting at with your bitchfaces and your..."

The being who had recently been more powerful than an archangel watched him with irritation. "My what, Dean?  My concern that your liver might give out just as the last of my grace does?"

Dean glowered at the shattered glass across the hard floor. "Use a bit of that mojo to clean up this mess, will you?"

Castiel's eyes became tiny slits, and his voice quieted. Dean was uncomfortably reminded of the unmatchable power his friend wielded from time to time, had used both alongside him and against him in fact. "As you are fond of saying," he growled coldly, "one should clean up one’s own messes."

Dean could feel a twinge of shame fill his stomach. Perhaps another day, he would have snapped right back at the arrogance, at having his own words tossed in his face. But he was tired. God, was he tired. So instead, he heaved a sigh, and extended an olive branch.

"Look, man. I was pissed and a bit drunk when I said that. I know why you did what you did. I wish you hadn't. I wish a lot of things. But you did do it, and I get why. I'm sorry I came down on you like that before.  I didn't mean it."

Castiel's blue, unblinking stare smoldered. "You did mean it. And you're often intoxicated, Dean."

A flicker of anger sparked to life again, as he knelt to pick at the glass. "I seem to remember your winged ass doing your fair share of drinking around the time Luci and Mikey were trying to coax Sam and me into a fitting room. And let's not mention the intoxicating effect of a swig of Purgatory souls."

In contrast to Castiel's silent approach, there was no mistaking the heavy footfalls of Sam Winchester. There was even a clunk of metal hitting wood as the man deposited his knife on the table on his way in.

The older Winchester sighed again, and looked up from his fist full of paper towels and brown shards of wasted beer bottle.

Sam had a coffee to his smiling lips as he entered the room, tucking a finger to remove earbuds linked to his iPod. The corners of his mouth pulled down a bit as he surveyed the room with a blink. Dean knew the younger man's brain was racing through the many different scenarios which may have resulted in this situation.  He looked from Castiel's icy eyes to Dean's movements on the floor.

"What's going on, guys?  Poltergeist?"

Dean smirked humorlessly. Sam was only partially joking. Even the bunker had proved to be vulnerable under extreme circumstances. "No. Our resident winged asshat needs to wear a freaking bell around his neck."

"I will do no such thing," Castiel growled.

A snicker tripped over his irritation on its way past his teeth. Castiel had no doubt, nor comment, about who the asshat in question was.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Cas, no one is going to ask you to-Dean, seriously, did you pull your gun on Cas?"  He pinched wearily at the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes rather than look at either of them.

"Bitch startled me. I needed my hands free."

"So you dropped the beer for your gun. In the kitchen. In the bunker. To aim it at Cas."

Dean glared at the last pieces of glass as he wiped. "Yes, Sam." He responded with what he considered grave patience. What was it Bela Talbot used to say?  _Mind your blood pressure_. Of course she had never had to live with an Angel of the Lord. He caught himself wondering if Bela had known about Angels, but shook his head.

Thinking of Bela made his stomach knot up. Just like thinking of Jo. Lisa. God, _Ben_.  Jess and Madison, then Sarah. Even freaking Jimmy Novak whose unrelenting gaze bore deep into him right at that moment. Bobby. Jesus, Bobby. That Andy kid who never hurt anybody, unless you counted the waitress who never trusted him again, or that freaky evil twin of his. Benny, his comrade, and the object of his greatest moment of betrayal, trading the head of the man he had fought and killed with, back to back for months, for the assurance that his brother would never have to live through that same terrible, _pure_ place. The pain of knowing how his father had been sparked out by the thing he hated most-that was too painful to even register, even now.

Chuck and Kevin. Chuck and Kevin. God, what had even happened to Chuck?  He had hated the work the guy did, but he had felt responsible for him like all the others. He hadn't told Sam-why spread the guilt?-but he had spent countless sleepless nights trying to track down the prophet after he found out about Kevin. Only one prophet at a time meant Chuck was gone. Now Kevin too. And that was on him. They all were. Adam! Can't think of Adam. Can't even think about what "not home right now" even meant-Why wouldn't Garth return his calls, anyway?  He just wanted to make sure he and his pack were fine, safe, not eating human hearts, not hurt somewhere-

"Dean!"

 _Sammy_.

The shout brought him to the present again, ripped the shame out of his throat to bury it with the incomplete thought: _little brother scared_.

Castiel's frown was deep now, but he looked beyond him to where Sam was pushing past to drop down next to him, running shoes and knees crunching the last of the glass into the floor. Dean watched him, bewildered by this sudden leap, then realized Sam was staring at something. He followed the gaze to his own hands to find blood smearing sticky across his palms and fingers.

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam yelped again. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Sam, I'm sorry about Amy," he murmured for no reason at all.

Sam stared at him. "Cas?" he cried, grabbing at Dean's bloody hands.

Castiel flowed into action. Dean might hesitate to admit such a thing, but he had always been impressed with Castiel's movement. The way the soldier went from still and coiled to a full-on smite with such fluidity, such ruthlessness, full of merciless but beautiful grace... _Why is there so much blood?_

In an instant, there wasn't. He realized too late what Castiel's intention was, and he failed to stop the wasteful, pointless use of failing Grace.

"Cas, knock it off!" He was surprised to hear the viciousness in his own voice. "Son of a _bitch_ , Castiel,” he screamed, “don't you do that again!  Michael needed my permission to wear me to his dance with Satan; you need my permission to heal my ass, you understand me? It's...it's a damn _cut_ , Cas!" Dean was horrified then to hear a sob catch in his throat at the last syllable. He tried to push himself away, suddenly needed to escape the smothering good intentions of his brother and his best friend. His brothers, if he deserved to call either of them that. His friends, if he deserved that.

Sam grabbed his arm.

"Let me go, Sam," he pleaded angrily. Tears smeared his vision badly. What the hell was going on?

"Let me," Castiel murmured in that sandpaper voice, and Dean felt the cool touch of Castiel's fingers on his forehead.

"Stop! Your grace, Cas!  Sam, don't let him!  I can’t let him..."  The edges of his eyes darkened until all Dean was aware of was sleep coming for him.

***

For a celestial being who did not have a need to take in a breath at all, Castiel had certainly mastered the sigh of exasperation. He watched Sam emerge from Dean’s room, wiping his hands on his pants absently. The man’s jaw was working with frustration. Castiel wanted to reach across the distance between them to provide some sort of comfort, but he was at a loss, wondering what he could possibly do to soothe Sam’s worried face. As much as he preferred close quarters and little personal space, he was _always_ at a loss when it came to actually touching humans. All the same, he felt a desire to do so rise now in him, and he dampened it down with another sigh.

“Sam,” he began carefully, “I wonder if-”

“I need a shower from my run, and I want to finish my coffee before we talk about it, Cas,” the man interrupted. His voice was shaky, but not unkind. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

“Of course, Sam. I’ll watch over him.”

At last, a small smile lightened Sam’s features, and he really looked into Castiel’s gaze for the first time all morning. “Of course you will,” he murmured. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just...don’t let him hurt himself. Or you.”

Castiel had been heartened by the smile he had received, but now he frowned. “Dean would not be able to-”

Sam’s weariness showed in the way he echoed Castiel’s earlier sigh. “Cas, please. Don’t pretend like you’re fine. You’re not fine. We all know that. I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I-I get that, I do, but I really can only deal with one jackass pretending the world is apple pie right now.”

He nodded slowly. “You mean Dean,” he guessed.

The smile was back, if smaller. “Yes, Cas,” Sam responded in his patient voice. Castiel appreciated that Sam did not express frustration with him when he needed clarification, even if it was a tiny bit irksome the way he expressed amusement. “Yes, Dean is generally the jackass in denial.”

He thought then that he understood. “I am not in denial about my fading Grace, Sam,” he said in a quiet voice. “I only mean that it would still require quite a bit of cunning on Dean’s part to actually harm me, should he choose to do so.”

Sam looked for a moment like he was going to say something else, but then he reached out and gripped Castiel’s arm before dropping his hand back to his side. Castiel could feel the minuscule tremor in Sam’s hand, but he accepted the touch with pride. Sam rarely touched anyone anymore, aside from Dean. “I’ll be right back, Cas,” he assured him.

Castiel watched his friend stumble toward the shower, and he pressed his lips together. Sam looked just as worn out as Dean, and he knew everything he needed to know about Dean’s physical condition from the gentle heal a moment before: Dean had not slept in days. It was as simple as that. Well, that and the alcoholism, the fact that Dean had given up the pretense of eating breakfast all together, and reached for a beer instead. Some strange, very broken part of Dean seemed to consider beer to be an acceptable substitute for meals, as if he were only truly drinking once the liquor came out. Once a day, Dean forced himself to eat, usually a sandwich of some sort, and washed it all down with coffee. Not since their encounter with Famine had Castiel noticed Dean struggle to put food away. Except in Purgatory. The hungers there had been different. Survival had been the single nutrient, and brotherhood had been the only means of acquiring it.

Purgatory.

The angel pulled his hand down his own face gently, feeling the beginnings of stubble scratching at him. He had grown a full beard in Purgatory. It was a sign of how truly fallen Castiel was that the growth was so quick again. It was mocking him, Jimmy’s body. _Time is running out, Angel. Nevermind that Heaven is open again. You will always be the fallen soldier. You’ve fallen further than Lucifer ever did. Lucifer was trapped and reviled, but he was never this, never_ human.

The choking cough pulled his attention to the shuddering body laid out on the bed. Castiel looked through the open door, deciding, then he moved noiselessly to his friend’s side. “Dean,” he muttered quietly. “Sleep, Dean.”

“Cas!” came the pitiful rasp from deep in Dean’s dry throat. “Cas, don’t make me sleep again. Please...”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he sighed, raising his hands to the sweaty forehead again.

Dean grabbed his wrist, but there was no strength in the trembling fingers. “Cas, your grace. Don’t waste it on me. It ain’t worth it, man. Please.” The voice was strained, quiet, and full of desperation. “I ain’t worth it, man. You know that better than anybody. You saw me in Hell. You saw me in Purgatory. Then the Mark. Sam won’t see it, but you do.”

Castiel watched his friend’s face for a moment, before shaking his head. “Yes, I’ve seen you at your worst,” he confirmed.

“You saw me try-” The words stuck in his throat.

But he understood. “Yes,” he said again calmly. “I saw you try to kill your brother with a hammer. Dean, I know you don’t forgive yourself, but we do.”

“How can you?” he choked out in a strangled sob.

“Because you always forgive us.” He fought past Dean’s grip easily to lay his hands on.

“But you love him, Cas. And I almost...”

Castiel’s spine snapped straight as though he had been electrocuted. He stared down at Dean’s unconsciousness for a full two minutes before he stood and tripped over his own feet trying to back away. He landed with a thud on the floor in the most undignified way imaginable, just as Sam was walking into the room.

“Cas?”

Blue eyes flicked about from Dean’s restless figure on the bed to the younger man standing in the doorway, his signature long hair still dripping from the shower. Castiel swallowed with difficulty. He turned his eyes away from his friend as he pulled his shirt on over his jeans, covering the scars and muscles underneath. Castiel could feel his cool Grace thrumming warm with embarrassment.

“You okay?” Sam prompted. “Did Dean...?”

“No!” he assured quickly. “No. I put him to sleep again, deeper this time. I...suppose doing so somehow affected my...balance.”

Sam’s eyebrows were raised, but he nodded slowly. “Okay. That’s not good, Cas. How does this work anyway? Do you know how much mojo you got left? I don’t want you killing yourself just so my pain in the ass big brother can get some rest. Dean’s tough. He’ll bounce back no matter what we do. It’s like he can’t help it.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel allowed doubtfully, pulling himself to stand awkwardly. “But he will recover quicker with our help. And I am Dean’s guardian, regardless of my...well, my angelic status. Whatever grace remains in me belongs to all of us. I will not allow Dean to suffer simply to conserve my strength.” Frustration bled into his words, but he said them with conviction.

Sam was smiling at him now. It stopped him cold when he ventured a look back at the face nearly half a foot above his. “I’m glad you’re here, Cas.”

He had said it before, many times. Ordinarily, Castiel would wonder at the unnecessary redundancy, but somehow it was nice to hear every time. “As am I,” he responded.

The tall figure loomed over his brother’s prone body for another moment, and Castiel watched with concern and curiosity. Then Sam’s hand reached out to grip Dean’s arm in much the way it had Castiel’s earlier. Brown hair fell in front of closed eyes for just a moment.

A vibration sparked through Castiel’s being then, and the heart that remembered being human broke with it. He felt his balance shift again in his surprise, and he found himself reaching for Sam’s arm, unsure if he meant to comfort his friend or steady himself.

The touch seemed to jolt Sam, and realization drained his face of color. His fingers released Dean quickly, and he whirled to face the angel. “Jesus, Cas. I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was-”

“It’s natural, Sam,” he breathed. The shock was subsiding, and he felt only warmth toward this boy who, in spite of everything he had seen, in spite of everything he knew, still managed to retain a sliver of faith in his loyal heart, for Castiel’s absent Father and His Host. “You were built that way, Sam, all of you. Of course you would feel compelled to pray sometimes.”

Sam’s pale face began to color pink at the cheekbones. “It’s stupid,” he corrected harshly. “The only one listening is you, and you’re right here.”

“I don’t mind.”

“That’s not-It’s still stupid.” Sam looked up then. “No one else could hear that, right?”

Castiel smiled at him fondly. “No. My remaining brothers and sisters would be prevented by the warding of the bunker. Even I am only able to hear your prayers from the inside. That’s why we use cellphones.”

The flush deepened. Sam cleared his throat. “It wasn’t a prayer, not really.”

The angel watched him with interest. As if Sam would understand prayer better than the angel tasked with hearing his family’s specifically! But he could tell when Sam was uncomfortable, and he graciously changed the subject. “Shall we discuss strategy?” he prodded gently, gesturing back toward the hall. “He should sleep now, likely for hours.” His eyebrow raised. “And he will be angry when he awakes.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Well, it was for his own damn good, whether he likes it or not. I remember that time I spent fighting down Lucifer inside my own head, when the bastard wouldn’t let me sleep. It’s no joyride. If Dean can trick me into accepting the possession of a freaking _angel_ for _my_ own good...”

Castiel let silence fill the air around them as Sam’s voice trailed off. He padded softly toward the Men of Letters library, swallowing an unexpected wince. Of course he knew the opinion Sam and Dean had of his brethren; how could he blame them? But the way Sam said the word “angel” was with precisely the same level of disgust as he said “monster,” and Castiel would be lying if he told himself it did not hurt just the smallest bit. But hadn’t he said some fairly disparaging things about humans on many occasions? Expressed the same level of nausea at the notion of becoming human as Sam and Dean did at the idea of being vessels?

It was Sam, though. This was not Dean, complaining about winged ass-monkeys, about tyrants like Zachariah or psychopaths like Metatron. This was Sam, talking about Gadreel, an angel who, if Castiel were honest, was not that dissimilar from himself. A soldier given orders he could not carry out, convinced he was doing what was right even though it went against the task given him by Heaven, filling himself with righteousness and power, then choosing to believe that redemption lay in the smooth words of Metatron, the gilded promises whispered through venomous lies. In the end, Gadreel had given everything to serve Heaven and the humans below, just as Castiel had always sought to do. True, he would not presume to hide inside Sam’s skin as Gadreel had done, but was it any different from his insistence on keeping Jimmy? He knew Sam, in a way he had never bothered to get to know Jimmy before inhabiting him, that was the only difference. Gadreel had not.

Sam seemed to sense the effect his words had had. “Look, Cas. I didn’t mean...”

A sad blue gaze met his friend’s frown. “It’s all right, Sam. Freaking angels have not done much for you in the past, have they?”

His words missed their mark, and seemed only to wound Sam, who cringed. “Cas, that’s not-”

“Lucifer was an angel,” Castiel said softly. “You loathe angels even more than demons now, Sam, I know that. After all, even Azazel, who killed your parents, did so to bring about the rise of the brightest and most corrupt angel of all time. Your brother served in Hell because of events which were set in motion by angels. And you...”

Sam sighed heavily, sinking into a chair at the table with exhaustion written across his face. “Yeah. Well, then there’s you.”

Cas felt as though his chest had suddenly collapsed, like an angel blade had sliced right through his borrowed lungs. “Yes,” he rasped hoarsely. “Then there’s me. I worked within the manipulation, within Zachariah’s schemes, thinking only of my duties for far too long. I allowed Uriel to threaten you, was unable to protect you from Gabriel’s hurtful pranks, betrayed you and your brother in favor of a Heaven broken beyond repair. How many times were you injured, possessed, and even killed because I wasn’t standing at your side? I tore down Death’s wall, Sam, and I know what that did to you. I can never be sorry enough for that, Sam. For any of it.”

The man stared at him for a full minute before he spoke again. He threaded his long fingers through his hair without noticing. It was still drying, but in a way that seemed to defy physics, it was assuming its usual groomed look with just the absent stroke of those fingers. Castiel found himself watching the hypnotic movement, focusing on this instead of the burning weight in his stomach borne of shame.

At last, the man, who had defeated both Lucifer and Michael by sheer force of will, shook his head, and sounded for all the world like he was at a loss. “Cas, that’s not...I didn’t mean you...When I said that, I meant...”

Castiel watched him carefully, trying to piece together signs of emotion-anger perhaps?-which might help guide him to an appropriate role in this horrible social interaction. He studied the face, but Sam’s eyes revealed no malice or blame. It was...quite confusing.

“Cas, look.” Sam began again, taking a deep breath. “You and Dean gotta stop doing this to yourselves, okay? I mean, look, I once let Dean get turned by a fang on the off chance we could cure him. I left him-both of you!-in Purgatory, because I was too lost to realize what had happened to you. And Dean? He tried to take me out with a freaking hammer, Cas. A hammer. All the weapons in the whole damn bunker, and he came at me with a hammer. Because he didn’t just want to kill me; he wanted to break me. I’m only even here now because you showed up when you did.”

“You had the situation under control,” Castiel corrected softly.

“Like hell I did! Would that blade have even worked? It took the goddamn first blade to kill Abbadon! Not that it matters, since I still don’t-” Sam leapt to his feet and began pacing aimlessly around the room on long legs. “Dammit, Cas, I still don’t know what I would have done.”

“You would have done what you needed to do.”

A bitter laugh filled the air then, startling the angel into a deeper frown. “Yeah. Yeah, you think so? ‘Cause I don’t know. Back years ago, when Meg wore me around for a week, no matter what Dean saw me do, no matter who I hurt, Dean wouldn’t pull that trigger. What makes you think I’m any stronger than that, when it comes to doing what I need to do?”

The tightness in Sam’s voice pulled at Castiel’s heart. “In the end, you will always do what you have to in order to save him,” he breathed. “Even if that means ending him.”

Sam’s jaw was working furiously, a sign that he was fighting back tears. “Yeah. Maybe. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not letting that Mark take him again, Cas. My point is this. Gabriel said it once; we muttonheads have broken the world. We’ve broken one another. And Bobby would say that’s what family does. We break each other, and we put each other back together. What haven’t Dean and I done to you, Cas? Really. You’re losing your wings, man! _Again!_ If you’d never met us, would you have ever fallen from Heaven?”

The logic was flawed in so many ways. It was _pathological_ more than it was logical, in fact. But one aspect was outright wrong, and Castiel could not help but correct it. “I’d never hadn’t met you,” he murmured.

Sam’s tired laugh brightened the whole room, and it both eased Castiel’s stomach knots and tightened his throat at the same time. Was he laughing at him? “Cas, that made no sense,” Sam chuckled. But there was no taunting in his voice, as there might have been in Dean’s.

He tried again. “I always knew you,” he said slowly, “and I was always going to meet you.”

“Right. Destiny. Kicked that in the ass once or twice, didn’t we?”

Without meaning to, Castiel found himself allowing a smile to spread across his face. “That we did, Sam,” he confirmed in his gravelly tone.

"So no more apologies. Okay? Really. Unless you'd like us to start listing everything we've got to be sorry about too, right? We gotta do this like a fresh start, man." Sam's hazel eyes began to show signs that desperation was winning the war against optimism inside the man's battle-scarred brain. "I need that. Okay? Just this once, a real, honest to...whatever fresh start."

Castiel smile turned a bit sour at the misspoken phrase. Honest to God. As if there were any way to be dishonest with his Father, after all. As if his Father were listening or cared. A familiar ache strummed through his grace, a very real, very permanent void hollowed out in his soul. He had never questioned Joshua himself, had never sought out the Angel even after the gates had opened to him. The pain of his revelation to Dean and Sam was too raw. What was the point? God was done with this creation. Bored, tired, restless, something. Castiel had no desire to learn more, even if Joshua could be found at this point. Had Joshua been spared the humiliation, the heartache of the Great Fall orchestrated by Metatron? No way to know, but Castiel somehow suspected that Joshua had been an exception.

He brought himself back to the present. Until he had spent time as a human, or as near to one as an angel could ever be or had ever been, he had not spent so much time in reflection. Orders were carried out. Tasks were completed. Battles were won. The cosmos were observed. Now though, doubt-the greatest of all sins against his Father and the Host-forced him to examine and reexamine past events far more than he should.

He put aside his thoughts for now. Sam had asked for a fresh start. Although he was familiar with the term, he was unsure as to how to proceed.

"A...fresh start. Of course, Sam." He licked his lips gently. "Is that different from a plan?" He hoped not. They required a plan, and Castiel always felt better having one, even if he knew it would certainly fall apart in its implementation.

Sam gave him a warm smile then. "No, Cas," he answered. "That is the plan.”

***

The would-be Boy King of Hell was drenched in his own sweat, on an old cot inside the panic room at Bobby Singer’s house. His arms were bound, and he could see eyes peering at him from behind the door slot. Without meaning to, he roared with rage at the eyes, hissing spit at his disadvantage. Traces of demon blood were still coursing through his veins, just enough to taunt him. Just enough to make him want to break down the door and see where his wrath took him. God help him, if he could only raise his arms…

“Sam! Sam, you’re experiencing a nightmare!”

He roared again, thrashing against his binds, which he was slowly realizing were not ropes or shackles at all, but hands. “I am the nightmare!” he shrieked viciously.

“Sam, please. You’re going to hurt yourself-“

Hazel eyes flashed open, filled with loathing. “Let me go!” he growled shrilly.

The scream echoed back at him, and startled him to full wakefulness. Not Bobby’s place at all. _Jesus, not Bobby’s, not a motel. Bunker. Bunker. Cas._

Cool air rushed into his lungs beyond his control. He gripped at Castiel’s sleeves, willing his body to stop shaking. “Cas,” he exhaled.

The doorway darkened to reveal Dean Winchester’s silhouette. Gun was drawn, and face was tight. Green eyes were flashing with fury. “Sam!” he shouted.

Sam breathed again. That one syllable, his name, and Dean had spoken a hundred words. _Where is it, Sammy? I’ve got you. Get behind me, Sam. Nothing going to hurt my kid brother! Where is it?!_

“Dean!” Sam called to him from the bed a few feet away, still in Castiel’s grasp. “It’s-it’s fine. A nightmare.”

“Silver?” Dean shouted back for confirmation, chambering a bullet in one fluid motion as his eyes flicked about the empty room.

Sam stared at him, pushing Castiel off gently. “What? No, Dean, a nightmare.”

The older man pounced on Sam’s knife, which had fallen off the bed in the tangle. “Right. Demon.”

Another moment spent staring at Dean made his brother forget the horrible dream for a moment. He snickered quietly. “Dean,” he said again, this time firmly. “Dean, it was an actual nightmare. Like a dream. I was dreaming. Cas woke me; I’m fine. And a nightmare…a mara isn’t going to get through the bunker warding and come sit on my chest at night with an angel five feet away.”

Dean stared back, then glanced at Castiel, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow. He nodded slowly, finally understanding. He fumbled with his weapons briefly, then tucked away the 1911 and flipped the demon blade around to hand it to Sam. “So not a scary-ass demon horse.”

“Dude, they’re not horses. That’s a misconception. They’re little imp things.”

“All right, professor,” Dean responded, putting his hands up. “Stow the Men of Letters lecture, and tell me what the hell kind of dream has you screaming across the bunker like a freaking banshee?” He slapped at a light switch, and Sam cringed as light flooded the room.

Sam glowered at him. He was absently aware that Castiel was taking a step back from the bed, as if he could blend in to the wall behind him. “Banshees are dicks,” he snapped, pushing himself up from the bed. He didn’t like it when Dean loomed over him. Perhaps it was the decade and a half he had spent two or three inches above him, but he was more inclined to think it was Dean’s unique ability to make him feel like he was eleven years old even now that he was over twenty years past that. “Just a nightmare, guys. Get the hell out of my room.”

Castiel was frowning at him, he knew, but he ignored it in order to stare down Dean’s fierce green eyes.

“You don’t do nightmares, Sam, not like that.”

“I don’t do…Dean, am I the only one who remembers Lucifer at all?”

“Not like that,” Dean said again, through gritted teeth.

Now that his vision had adjusted to the brightness, he realized how pale his brother was. Gray, actually, with bruised eyes that squinted and made his crows feet more pronounced. For the first time Sam could remember, aside from that witchy poker game they had screwed around with, he realized his brother looked _old_. As adrenaline died back, only weariness remained, weighing Dean down with a gravity all its own. Sam swallowed a twinge of fear that threatened to close his throat, and took another breath.

“I’m sorry, man. I’m fine. Clowns, all right?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed further. “Bullshit.”

Sam’s head tilted and he glared dangerously. “How about you, Dean? How’s your sleep?”

“Full of gorgeous, horny triplets,” he snapped back. “Thanks for asking. Glad we had this talk, asshat. Enjoy your night. Try to keep your clowns to your side of the bunker.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Castiel slip out of the door after his brother, like a silent angelic shadow. It did not surprise him at all to hear his brother yelp a moment later, then curse his guardian for his ability to sneak up on him, threatening him with a bell again, and after that, there was nothing until Castiel returned looking irritated and exasperated.

“Your brother,” the angel began slowly, as though his hold on his own temper was beginning to fail him, “is infuriating.”

Sam sighed. “Don’t I know it.” He turned the overhead light on in favor of his dim lamp near the bed.

Castiel looked uncertain at that moment. He watched Sam’s face, then opened his mouth, only to close it again. Finally, he spoke in an awkward tone. “Dean will be fine. He fought against what should have been a very deep sleep when you cried out. It took very little to put him under again.”

This sigh had a choke to it. “How long are we going to have to do this, Cas?”

“As long as it takes for him to get rest, Sam. He never slept well, nor much, but his body cannot go without sleep all together. He didn’t sleep as a demon, I imagine. Even before that, the Mark-“

“Yeah. So who knows how long it’s really been since the guy caught some zzz’s.” Sam lowered his gaze from the bold blue before him. “Thanks for what you’re doing for him. I know he’s a pain in the ass.”

“But he’s family,” Castiel said for him.

Sam looked up, a fond warmth surprising him. “Yeah. He’s family. And so are you, you know.”

Castiel tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Thank you, Sam. It is always an honor to be thought of that way by you and your brother. I strive to be worthy of it one day.”

The frankness of these words touched Sam’s heart, and before he knew it, he was reaching across the distance between them to grip Castiel’s arm for the second time in twenty-four hours. “Cas, you’re better than worthy,” he breathed. “You’re the best among us.”

A dark eyebrow lifted in incredulity. “The best of what among whom?”

Sam gave a soft laugh at this, but he did not answer. “How’s Heaven, Cas?”

Castiel watched him. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now?”

“I want to talk about anything that’s not demon black trying to crawl out of my brother’s eyes,” Sam said hoarsely. _Or demon blood running through my veins_. “So yes. How’s Heaven?”

“Heaven is fine, Sam.” Castiel lowered his gaze for a moment. “Heaven…is complicated.”

Sam did not respond. How could he? What must it be like up there now that Metatron was in some ethereal prison, and Naomi and Gadreel and hundreds of others were dead? Raphael was dead at Castiel’s hands, Gabriel at Lucifer’s, if the rumors were to be believed. Lucifer and Michael were staring at one another across a cage buried so deep they would never resurface, and God…Well, someone was giving the orders, he supposed. Castiel had mentioned Hannah in passing. Perhaps she was running things now.

Castiel cleared his throat gruffly. “Heaven is quiet for the time being. Crowley is licking wounds in Hell, cleaning up after Abbadon’s mess. As I told Dean, things are…normalizing.”

“Dude, there’s nothing normal about any of this.”

“And it never will be normal again,” Castiel responded a bit sharply, “but for now, Heaven has no need of me.”

“I thought Hannah-“

“Hannah and the others will get along without me. If I ascended now, they would expect from me…things I cannot give. I cannot fight a war on multiple fronts, Sam. Historically, that has not worked well for me.” He rubbed at his face, dragging short nails across his jawline. “I’m just an angel, Sam, and only that for a short amount of time.”

Sam felt his stomach lurch violently. He winced, and swallowed. “Cas, I had thought when your borrowed Grace faded out, you’d just…you know, be human again. Like before. I didn’t realize…”

“That I’d weaken and die?” Castiel said bitterly.

“Yeah,” the man confessed. He pushed the word out, biting back the sound of pity. “That you’d die. Is…is that what’s going to happen again this time?”

“Yes, Sam. The Grace Crowley provided for me will one day burn out just as the other did. It will take longer, as I’m not currently fighting a war with it.”

Sam’s hands opened and closed several times, and he shook his head. “We’re always fighting a war, Cas,” he croaked.

There came no answer. But suddenly, Castiel allowed a slow smile to spread across his face, until a chuckle bubbled out. Sam stared at him. Finally, the angel explained. “No, Sam. Evidently, your brother at times fights Peruvian fish tacos. Wielding pudding. You are not the only one who talks in your sleep.”

“Peruvian fish…” Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah. He’s an idiot. Wait, were you…doing that watching over him thing?”

Castiel nodded. “Of course. Sam, your brother cannot be trusted to care for himself. We have seen that-“

“No,” Sam hurried, “no, I’m not…That’s good, Cas. I appreciate you watching over him. I’m just wondering how you heard my nightmare before Dean did, if you were with him.”

“I am a celestial being,” Castiel said dryly.

“Right. Seriously, though.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at that, but shrugged. “You prayed in your dream, Sam. Long before you were speaking out loud, your soul was calling for help. You only actually vocalized a single time, as if you were in pain, and that is what Dean heard. I felt your pain long before that.”

A hand reached up to card through sleep-tossed hair, but stopped as Sam realized the fingers were not steady. He quickly hid them behind his back. “Thank you then,” he choked out. “And…I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be tripping your prayer wires all the time.”

The smile Castiel gave him was beautiful. Sam sucked in his breath at the warmth radiating from it. The striking blue eyes gazed at him with such fondness and curiosity, it made Sam want to hide the rest of himself too. “I told you,” the gruff voice said. “I don’t mind.”

“Watch for my brother, will you?”

“Of course, Sam.”

There was a flutter of wings, and Castiel was gone from the room. A showy trick, an unnecessary use of his powers, but it made Sam smile. Not only was it nice to have the old Castiel back, but he was certain the angel felt more like himself, busy watching over the two most death-prone men in all of creation, than he had in a very long time. No time to waste walking from one room to another when Dean could die in his sleep fighting fish tacos and turn his eyes black again.

***

“He asleep?”

The groggy growl surprised Castiel. He raised an eyebrow, and swallowed down frustration. “Yes, Dean. He will be. As you should be.”

“Harder to knock out a Knight of Hell than you expected, Cas-a-fras?”

Castiel ground his teeth together. “It can be done,” he assured his friend in a threatening tone. “I’ve not wanted to use my full ability against you, Dean, but if you continue to fight my help-“

Dean grabbed his wrist as his hand moved toward his forehead again. “Dammit, Cas. Stop. Just for a minute. You can’t keep me asleep forever.”

The eyebrow and the blue gaze challenged that comment, but Castiel did not respond aloud. “What then, Dean, do you propose we do? You refuse to take care of yourself.”

The man sighed, staring up at the dark ceiling. “Why are you so angry with me, Cas? Is it because of what I did to Sam as a demon? You had said you knew that wasn’t all me. Changed your mind?”

Castiel’s frown deepened. “I’m not angry with you, Dean.”

“Yeah? Why we fighting so much then?”

Was this Dean wanting to talk about feelings? Castiel shook his head. “I’m concerned for you, and you are not. That makes me-“

“Angry,” Dean finished for him. “It makes you angry.”

Castiel got the odd feeling he was being manipulated. “Perhaps,” he allowed suspiciously.

“So,” Dean continued, “can you possibly imagine why I get angry that you’re wasting that stolen Grace by using it on me? Sam told me how sick you were at the end, before you got a new battery. And I bet he didn’t know the half of it, did he? Can you just for a minute get why I don’t want you using the last of your power to heal my ass? I’m not dying, Cas. I’m coping. Just let me be. I ain’t going to let it kill me. When you use up that superpower of yours, somebody’s going to have to look after Sam. So just stop using your mojo on me. Use it to get rid of Sam’s nightmares or something, if you need to.”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

Dean was quiet.

“You and Sam are my charges. I’ve given up on Host politics, Dean. They’ve contacted me many times. They want me to lead them.”

“And who better?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. I am not a leader. I’m a soldier. I protect, I guard, and I fight. It’s clear now that Heaven insists I be something that I’m not. The only place I can be what I’m supposed to be is right here. I will always do anything that needs to be done for my home and my brethren. But I belong here. And as much as you don’t like it, Dean Winchester, you need me as much as your brother does. I’m content to be what I’m meant to be, your guardian. It is time for you to accept what you are meant to be. Human. Even you have limitations. You fight against sleep, Dean-“

“I came back from death on this bed.”

The blue eyes stared.

Dean pulled a hand down his face. “Look. I fall asleep, maybe I’ll open my eyes and see the world through black again. I don’t know. I know it makes no sense.”

“And the drinking, Dean? How does that help?”

The man snorted softly. “Same as it ever did, man. Numbs the guilt. Makes the ghosts stop yelling at me for a few minutes. Keeps me from having to look at Sam sober.”

"Dean, Sam wants a fresh start."

Dean's snort was louder this time, his voice bitter. "Sam always wants a fresh start. What do you think Stanford was? Everything from college to Amelia has been nothing but fresh starts. I'm getting tired of the fresh starts."

Castiel frowned at him. "You sound as though you don't believe his sincerity." He found that insulting at some level, that Dean thought he knew what Sam wanted better than he did, and he was preparing to defend the younger man, when Dean spoke again.

"It ain't that. It's the way he tries to get his fresh starts that bugs me. Running away. Sammy's been running away his whole life."

The angel waited without a word.

"Cas, you can't get a fresh start without dealing with endings first. Sam sucks at endings. Won't deal with them. Closest he ever got was trying to die on me right after the trials. Made Death promise he wouldn't be brought back, the bastard."

"Dean-"

"Cas, he's got to get his anger out of his system first. Deal with some grief, get past some of the betrayals, before he can try another fresh start."

Realization flooded Castiel's face. "You're talking about forgiveness."

"Of course I'm talking about forgiveness! Sam's so full of the poison he's been fed his whole life, by enemies and monsters, but mostly by family and friends. By Dad, by me, you. Not one of us ever meant to hurt him. But it can't just be erased. He keeps pushing it away, but he's never dealt with it. He can't bring himself to blame us, so the poison just swims in him. He can't forgive folks he can't blame."

This logic stunned Castiel, and for a moment, he was quiet. Then he took a breath. "And you too, Dean? Have you ever forgiven your father and Sam for things they've done?"

"Long ago. Stuff still hurts like hell sometimes, but it ain't weighing on me no more."

"I see. Do you anticipate a future in which you could ever forgive me?"

He could see from Dean's eyes that he had been far too blunt. But this was the closest he would get to Dean opening up. The fact that Dean had died before truly forgiving Castiel for past sins had eaten him up inside. Perhaps he would never deserve absolution among his own family, but the sentiment from Dean would go a long way toward giving Castiel peace.

Dean watched him with narrowed eyes. "I said I understood-"

"It isn't the same thing as forgiveness, Dean. What are the most horrible things anyone has ever done to you, aside from the acts of Azazel and Alistar?"

The man's breath was coming fast and shallow. It was clear this was not how he had expected this conversation to go. But Dean nodded slowly. "You broke Sam's wall, Cas," he growled.

Castiel nodded too, shame filling his stomach once again. “And?" he forced out with a deep sadness.

All at once, there were tears in the man's eyes, pooling liquid green pain. "And Bobby was shot by a Leviathan. By a damn Leviathan, you son of a bitch."

The voice was quiet, but it bled through thick anger and grief. It broke something inside Castiel. But he made himself continue nodding. "Yes. And I can only hope that you are right that forgiveness can one day follow the assignment of blame. Good night, Dean.”

***

Sam had often been the second to awaken in motel rooms. Dean usually had showered, dressed, checked their weapons and read the news before smacking Sam's shin or making enough noise to irritate his brother into waking up.

Here at the bunker, it was different. Sam generally rested better in these protected rooms, where no one but him had slept for decades, and he awoke rested. Dean felt safer in this place than he had felt anywhere since he was four years old. Sam scolded him about wearing a robe around the bunker, but it actually made him smile to see Dean relaxed enough to forgo boots and denim for a few hours in the morning. And occasionally, the older man even chose to sleep in, when he could sleep at all, content in the security of the memory foam surrounded by his favorite weapons and enough warding sigils to snuff out any low-level scum to find itself within a thousand yards.

So it was Sam who emerged first the next morning. He had washed the last of the beer bottle shards out of his knees in the shower the day before, but the cuts still ached a bit. He would never admit it to Dean, of course, especially after the comment he had made about the "sprained elbow." Dean was a prick. He had gone to Hell and through hell to protect his kid brother, but he had no sympathy for the smaller injuries. He had dutifully driven Sam to the ER when that zombie bitch had broken his arm that time, and he had patched him up when Bella had shot him. Every time Sam had gotten bitten and stabbed, Dean was there to push his insides back in and sew up the hole, but there was never much bedside manner to it. Not that Sam was much better about that sort of thing, if he were honest. He could distinctly remember scolding Dean once in a filthy public bathroom about getting his thigh knifed up when he was _perfectly aware_ they were nearly out of dental floss and whiskey. The green glare he had received for that comment had been priceless.

The lack of sympathy extended to any non-lethal virus as well. Croatoan aside, Dean had always treated illness as an irritation, as a weakness on the part of the victim. True, he himself never got sick, not since he had found that talisman that he had worn around his wrist for most of Sam’s memory. Even after it had been torn off during a tussle, the residual affect of having worn it for so many years had kept Dean protected from the types of bugs normal people fought against. Dean had no time for sickness in a world filled with monsters. He had no use for weakness of any sort.

Sam considered going for a run, but thought he might utilize the Men of Letters’ gym instead. He did not feel right leaving the bunker when Dean was obviously so unstable, no matter how claustrophobic the place was beginning to feel. He shuffled into the kitchen to start the coffee, and instead encountered an odd vision sitting in the center of the floor.

“Um, Cas?”

Blue eyes flew open. “Sam! You’re awake!”

“Uh, yeah. Whatcha doing? Yoga?”

Castiel looked down at himself. He had replaced his usual attire with a pair of white pants and a white tee shirt, reminiscent of his time after taking Sam’s place as a mental health patient. It made Sam cringe to remember how far off the deep end Castiel had gone that time. “No,” he murmured, pushing himself to stand. “A bit of meditation, nothing more.”

“Meditation. Really. Angels meditate?”

“Not usually, no. But it is quiet here. I am cut off from the Host, from the voices, and from prayers. I find the silence…disturbing. More so than when I was human, the silence feels unnatural. But I’m told the act of meditation brings peace, and that it is best done while experiencing silence. I am…making the most of the situation.”

Experiencing silence. Sam smiled. “Cas, you can leave if you need to. I can keep Dean under control.”

“No. I’m fine, Sam. How did you sleep?”

The taller man shrugged a bit, and turned again toward the coffee machine. Not Kevin’s machine, of course. One of them had replaced it with a less haunted version. “You were there.”

“Not all night.”

“I should hope not.” Sam stretched his full length, then smiled as a thought occurred to him. “Do you stretch your wings?”

The head tilted characteristically. “My wings?”

“Yeah. Do they get cramped?”

Castiel was staring at him now. “Cramped?”

Sam fiddled with the coffee machine for a moment, trying to think of how to explain the need to stretch to a celestial being. “Yeah,” he said again. “When I’ve been asleep or in too small a space, or in a bad position for too long, I get uncomfortable. Stretching myself out helps. Doesn’t that ever happen to you?”

“Sam, I am far larger than this form. You know that.”

“Sure. So don’t you ever feel cramped?”

Castiel considered this for a time. He licked his pink lips carefully before responding. “I suppose. Not my wings, per se, but at times, I feel the need to uncurl my Grace, to let it reach beyond this body, if only for a moment. Also, when I was human, I regretted my choices to sleep in vehicles the next morning, as my neck muscles were quite unforgiving.”

“I know that feeling.” Sam gave him a bright laugh. “I probably slept more miles in that Impala than I drove. I’ve slept everywhere. Cars, motels, floors of empty houses, on the ground in the woods. I once had to catch a nap in a tree to avoid being eaten by the thing that treed me. Dean liked to use me as lycanthrope bait back then. Took him nearly till morning to find me and shoot the damn thing.”

He set the machine whirring and turned to face his friend, who watched him with interest.

“Anyway, how is the old man? Still bitchy and hiding liquor in his room like a fourteen year old?”

“If you are referring to your brother, I believe I have located and disposed of all the intoxicants in his room. All that remains is here in the kitchen.”

“Good. No more sneaking around. What’s our next move?”

The angel’s eyes searched his face. Then he smiled sadly. “Sam, when you talked about a fresh start, what did you hope would happen? How would you like things to change?”

He shrugged again, looking away. “I don’t know, Cas. Just…I’d like us to get past everything from before, you know? Call it all even, and be finished with the guilt. I want Dean to stop talking about Kevin and Jo and Amy, and you to stop worrying about atonement for your time as God. I want to be able to stop feeling like throwing up when I think about leaving you and Dean to rot in Purgatory, and breaking the last seal. I want to stop dreaming about being locked in the panic room to detox from demon blood!”

Castiel nodded. “I would like those things too,” he said quietly. “But do you think you have skipped over the part about forgiveness in your hurry to forgive and forget?”

“What? No! I…What the hell have you and Dean been talking about? That’s him talking, isn’t it? There’s nothing I need to forgive, because you and Dean have done nothing wrong. You have always done what you had to do. You never acted selfishly, like I did. You’ve always been motivated by what you thought was right. Dean too.”

“Is it fair to blame yourself for breaking that last seal, when that was exactly what you were meant to do? When you were given every indication that doing so would save the world, not bring about its destruction? And, Sam, you had no way to know what had happened to Dean and to me after we killed the Leviathan leader. For all you knew, we were atomized. Dean may not have understood, but I do. You thought we were gone, for good this time.”

“I should have looked!”

“Your brother is not right about everything. Case in point, I’m fairly certain there is no such thing as an evil fish taco from Peru.”

The tension in Sam’s chest released suddenly, and against all logic, he burst into laughter. He laughed until he shook, stumbling back into a counter to brace himself. He found, to his embarrassment, that he could not stop laughing, as much as he tried to bite it back, and at last, tears flooded his vision, and began to stream down his cheeks.

“Sam?” Castiel murmured worriedly.

It took a full minute to realize that the laughter had turned into sobs, that his defenses had crumbled and he was powerless to stop the grief from pouring out. He could feel Castiel now, feel his strength as he held him, lowered him gently to the floor, where he wept through crippling fatigue into the angel’s shirt.

He hated himself for his weakness, nearly as much as he loved Castiel for his strength.

Before he could stop it, his mind whispered a silent prayer that Dean would not walk in at that moment.

A hand pushed his hair from his face delicately. “He’s still asleep, Sam. It’s all right. No one can see but me.”

He could hear the flutter of wings, but aside from the sudden drop in his stomach, he was unaware of the location change until he heard a bird above them. He ripped his face out of Castiel’s shoulder to look around him. “Cas! Where are we?”

Castiel nodded at the scene, full of greens and blues so deep they throbbed with it. “A lake. Where you are completely protected. Where you can feel whatever you need to feel without worrying about your privacy.”

Sam sniffed quietly. “It’s beautiful, Cas.”

“I’m fond of it,” he said simply.

“Thank you.” Sam turned from the trees and water, from the rocks and dried leaves, to Castiel’s intense eyes. “Thank you for everything, Cas. I don’t…I don’t know…You mean a lot to me. To Dean and me, I mean.”

The angel was smiling at him softly. “A fresh start begins with a true ending. Metatron opened my mind to many great works of literature, and I believe I finally understand why humans are so fond of sequels, even those which cannot possibly bring anything but disappointment. You are terrified of endings. Your lives are not meant to be fairy tales with neat endings that help you determine who was right and who was wrong, what was good and what was evil, to calculate the scores of heroic deeds and villainous misdeeds. Stories shouldn’t end when characters succeed in a task or fall in love. In order to begin a new story, you must be prepared to complete the one you are already in, not to simply continue the saga from a different perspective. You want a fresh start, Sam. That isn’t how human lives work. The most you can hope for is a new chapter, or…as I believe it is called, a new plot twist.”

Then Castiel was pulling him, touching his face with one hand and holding his arm tight with another. When their lips connected, Sam sucked in his breath, electricity spiking through his every nerve. An unbidden whimper rose from Sam’s throat, but Castiel closed his lips over it, sealing it in until it became a moan instead. Once it was clear that Sam was not pulling away from this unexpected touch, Castiel’s hand released his arm, and instead moved to press gently on Sam’s chest, lowering him to the grass below.

“Sam,” the gruff voice breathed, as their lips finally untangled. “It would be a great honor to be your new chapter.”

The words, the kiss, the coolness of the grass, everything worked against Sam to pull another whimper out of him. He swallowed with difficulty, licked his lips to taste tears and the sweet, deliciousness of Castiel’s mouth.

“Sam, please speak,” Castiel whispered.

The man shook his head slowly, staring with wonder into the blue eyes above him.

Castiel’s gaze fell then, and a flush of shame seemed to radiate from him. “Sam,” he said again, “I know this seemed sudden. If it is unwanted, I understand. I have mistaken communication in the past. But I felt sure…” He closed his mouth now, pain flashing over his face.

“No.”

The blue eyes raised again, and a severe wince struck the angel’s face. “I am sorry then,” he forced out. “It will be yet another thing you must find it in your heart to forgive me for.” Castiel began to lift himself to stand, as though he were suddenly hundreds of pounds heavier than he had been moments before.

“No!” Sam reached out to grab Castiel’s arm, to prevent him from widening the distance between them. “No, Cas, stop. I didn’t…I was just…You startled me. Okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. It isn’t…unwanted.”

Hope sparked into the blue eyes now. But Castiel remained silent.

The cool air did little to stop him from sweating as he gripped Castiel’s bare forearm, feeling the incredible strength within. “Cas, I…Maybe you think…Most of the time, guys don’t…”

Castiel closed his lips together tightly and nodded. “I see. Of course, Sam. I’m aware of the norms of your species, how it all…works. Gender seemed…irrelevant in this case, I suppose. But I understand.”

Sam could hear his own voice before his brain was properly working again. “It is irrelevant, Cas. I’ve only been with women. But that doesn’t mean…” He took a deep breath, lifted himself to his elbow, and dove in. “Cas, you’re an angel. Even when you’re not, you are.”

 He frowned at that.

“You know what I mean. You’re not just some guy. You’re…In six years, I’ve never known you to hook up with anyone! To kiss anyone! Except Meg and that reaper bitch. I just…don’t know if you…understand what you’re doing. I can’t let you think…Something like this _means_ something to humans, Cas. Maybe hanging out with Dean gave you the wrong idea. But you can’t…do something like this without it meaning something, changing things. You’re safe with me, but with someone else, you can’t just…”

Castiel sat on his heels to stare down at Sam. “You are afraid I might…what?”

“You’re losing your Grace, you’re dying. Slowly, but you are. You want to experience some things before then. I get that. But if you want to hook up with someone, you can’t make it seem like you’re…you know…actually interested in them.”

“Interested.”

Sam shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah. Humans have kind of fragile hearts, Cas. And you’re easy to fall in love with.” The words hitched in his throat, but he forced them out. Castiel needed to hear this from a friend, before he wound up hurting someone without meaning to. Before he lead on some poor human and shattered his heart. Castiel carried enough guilt around with him. That was not a burden he needed.

His lips were still thrumming with the feel of those glorious lips on his. His heart ached, and his body screamed to move closer, to forget what was wrong here, to let himself be Castiel’s experiment. Of course it would crush him; it would break him in a way that could never be repaired, but for a moment, he would be Castiel’s. A voice in his head wailed that it would be enough. One moment of pretending that this angel could love him, that _this_ angel could love _him_ , the blood junkie, the man whose selfish vengeance had brought about the end of the world, _the boy with the demon blood_. Every nerve was like a flayed live wire, crackling and swearing to him that _it would be enough_. Just one moment, one simple moment when he could lie to himself, and then he could deal with what came next.

Sam was having trouble breathing, the tears that had washed his face before now threatening a return. He would not, he promised himself sternly. Castiel never meant to hurt him, that he knew with all his heart, and it would upset him to know he had. He would not allow him to see the pain crushing his windpipe. Instead, he smiled. “You’re easy to fall in love with,” he said again, as much to indulge a morbid masochism, to torment himself, as to ensure that Castiel had understood him. “You don’t want some idiot falling for you, getting the wrong idea, while you’re…you know…just trying stuff out.” The smile was breaking down, but he forced himself to continue. “For what it’s worth, your kiss is amazing. Be careful who you use it on. Someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do might think…might think…” His will gave out before he could push anything more from his mouth.

Castiel was licking those beautiful lips with the point of his tongue. “Someone might think I loved him,” he finished hollowly.

Sam’s tear-filled eyes did not match his smile, but it was the best he could do. “Yeah. Humans are stupid like that.”

“Yes,” Castiel breathed quietly. “They are.” He stood then, raising himself up in a way that recalled preparation for battle. Then he lowered his hand to grip Sam’s. “You’re a good friend. I’ll take you home now.”

“Thank you for this, Cas,” Sam croaked out. “This place is really beautiful.”

“I’ll bring you here at any time,” he promised, and with a blink, they were back at the bunker, and Sam’s heart was shredded inside his chest.

 

***

 

“Where have you been?” Dean demanded sharply.

Castiel threw him a glower that even Dean Winchester had never successfully withstood, and took a minor pleasure in the way the man stumbled backward. “Sognefjord,” he snapped.

He did not wait for Dean’s response, but turned and stalked down the hall to the library, where he felt the most at ease in the bunker. It had been a risk, taking Sam away like that. But he had wanted to show the lake to Sam. It was beyond him to explain why, even to himself. He had been mediating on Svetloe Lake at Yergaki in the Western Sayan, the peaceful, pure lakes he had visited many times to remind himself of the beauty in his Father’s work. When Sam had broken down into sobs, he had acted instinctively, hoping to bring his friend the same peace he had experienced. His choice of Norway had been a playful whimsy. He had known Sam would find it lovely.

And then he had ruined the serenity.

For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder how Crowley had reacted to his fits of humanity. Dean had eluded to them briefly, but Castiel had not experienced them for himself. He hated to think of it this way, but Crowley certainly understood humans better than he did, at least at their baser level. He doubted the demon truly remembered much about being a human himself, but he had spent centuries securing their souls through manipulating their basest desires.

Perhaps the King of the Crossroads, now the King of Hell itself, would have fared better in an attempt to…

An attempt to…what? What was it he was trying to do with Sam anyway? Seduce him? That seemed…inappropriate. Sinful. Another betrayal of trust. Sam had been so patient in his rejection of him, but was part of him angry? Disappointed in Castiel’s impurity?

Snapping at Dean had been uncalled for, he realized now. He would apologize later. For now, he flipped absently through a book which had been left open on the table. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to speak with either of the Winchesters. It had been taxing to use his powers to leave and reenter the bunker, past the angel warding. He was tired, more than an angel had a right to be.

Angel.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, and he lowered himself into a chair. The book was written in Enochian and Russian, with scribbles in English throughout the margins. It was clearly about angels. Who had been researching angels, he wondered. Dean? Unlikely. Why would Sam be studying up on Angels?

He turned through the pages quietly. Then he allowed his Grace to trickle out to touch the book tenderly. He could feel where Sam’s own fingers had touched, felt with eyes closed as he flipped page after page until he found the ones Sam had lingered on. He opened his eyes, and gazed down at the script curiously. His brow tightened, and his lips parted in surprise.

Nephilim.

Nephilim were abominations. Mistakes created by the union between-

Castiel felt his mouth go dry. He stared hard at the page, decoding the Russian and glancing here and there at the Enochian phrasing. The English was not in Sam’s sharp, precise handwriting, so he ignored it all together. The text recounted a story about a rogue angel who had fallen in love with a human while on a mission from Heaven. It was not a story of violence, of power struggle, or defiance. It was a tale about lovers coming together despite vast differences. Forbidden it might be, but if this lore had any truth to it at all, it went against everything Castiel had ever been told about relationships with humans.

He found himself smiling. Leave it to the humans to find a love story within a tale of extreme disobedience.

So the question remained: What had made Sam seek out information about relationships between humans and angels within the Men of Letters’ tomes? It was unlikely that the men were hunting nephilim. Dean was in no shape, in spite of his insistence on cutting his vacation short, and anyway Metatron had said there were no more nephilim left on earth at this time. Not since he…well. Not since he had convinced Castiel to kill that woman, who just wanted to be left alone. Much as he had killed Daniel for wanting to be left alone.

His blue eyes squeezed closed for a moment, but he forced himself to move beyond the memories. Sam was researching nephilim for some purpose. Did he think that the angels who had fallen could have possibly intermingled with the humans, producing offspring? Or…was there a different motive behind the study?

Castiel’s head was swimming, and he lowered himself deeper into the chair. Would there ever be a time when he understood humans? Or angels, for that matter. It seemed the only species he had a hope of figuring out were the demons. At least they were predictably manipulative, nasty things. But that was not even true, was it? Meg, or whatever her true name had been, was a singular creature. In her way, she was as loyal as she was ruthless. She had pursued the Winchesters without mercy for years, in the service of Azazel and Lucifer. Beyond that, she had pursued Crowley, even to the extent that it required an alliance with the Winchesters, in vengeance for her former masters. For Meg, it was not about the Winchesters at all. It was about loyalty. Even in the end, she had remained true to her allies, when she may have had the chance to plead for her survival. Meg had been…fascinating. It had never occurred to him to wonder before, but now he felt a twinge of sadness that he had never asked her true name. She would always be Meg in his memory, the demon who nursed him, who had used her wicked nature to protect them when she might have, as she said, _gone the other way_. No one had ever made him feel quite so uneasy and so comfortable all at the same time as she had. She had never expected him to be anything but what he was, even when what he was really was broken and crazy. She had stood by him and protected him at his most vulnerable, and Sam had told him once that her last words to him had been regarding her fondness for Castiel. He had not elaborated on the wording, but she had spoken them just as she had put herself between Crowley and the Winchesters and Castiel, before she had sacrificed herself to give them more time.

So there it was. He did not understand humans, angels or demons. That left very little other than monsters. Bees. He did like bees, and understood them, for what that was worth. They minded their own business, went about their work happily, propped up entire ecosystems on their tiny shoulders and sometimes even produced lovely honey. Not that bees had shoulders, of course. It was a metaphor. Bees were what angels were supposed to be.

It was probably a symptom of his stolen Grace not fitting quite perfectly inside him that his mind kept wandering in odd tangents. He shook his head to clear it. He did like bees, but that was hardly relevant right now.

His ears picked up the sharp sound of a glass breaking. He frowned severely, and hurried to his feet. His fingers brushed the hilt of his angel blade to confirm its presence, and he strode quickly toward the sound.

Raised voices met his sensitive ears, and he halted briefly when he realized it was an argument between the brothers. His hand moved from his blade, and he let his posture ease. It was never a good sign when the Winchester men argued, but at least there was no real danger threatening them. Only the sin of pride haunted them in this home they had made, and he was the only witness to it.

He gave a sigh, and sat back down. It had been a long day, and it was not even noon yet.

***

“Just eat a damn sandwich then!” Sam barked, throwing his hands in the air.

Dean stared into his brother’s fury, shocked by his sudden explosion. It was unlike Sam to react so violently when annoyed with him. And he was fairly certain he had never seen the man throw a dish before. Not that they had owned many dishes in their lives. Perhaps he would have thrown more if he had ever had the chance to eat off something other than plastic. Sam had never appreciated the comforts the bunker provided them, not in the way Dean did. Dean was grateful for the roof that kept out both rain and demons, and the dry air that kept out the mold. He was perfectly delighted to clean the kitchen, because it was a sweet reminder that he had a kitchen to clean. It was amazing, even so many months having passed, that they could bring actual groceries into a home instead of living off of food that required a can opener or a convenience store microwave. Even Dean could appreciate the fact that there was whole food in the place, food that required peeling a rind instead of peeling a plastic wrapper. They even had a roof for his Baby.

He cringed inwardly. His Baby. He hadn’t treated Sam well as a demon, but he had completely neglected the Impala too. He had spent two days cleaning her, tuning her, giving her the love he had failed to give her for so long. He had even whispered apologies to her, and unlike Sam and Castiel, his Baby had not brushed them off.

“I’m not hungry,” he growled tightly in response to Sam’s shout.

“Not-Dean, I’m sick of babying your ass! You’re going to have to take care of yourself eventually! You’re draining Cas to the bone, fighting his help like you are, and I’m sick of that too! That guy has been nothing but patient-“

“He’s a damn angel, Sam! You think he doesn’t see a demon when he looks at me?”

Sam screwed up his face at that. “Now you’re just bitching. Would you wake up and see that Cas is going to end up just as he was, _dying_ , Dean, because you’re draining the freaking life out of him! He’s insisting on helping heal your ass, get you all recovered, and he’s going to kill himself doing it!”

“Is that what this is all about? You think I’m trying to kill off your boyfriend by being too much of a dick to eat and sleep like you think I should?”

The taller man’s chest puffed broadly, and he looked for a moment like he was going to throw a punch, but he simply stared dangerously with those hazel eyes reflecting the green from his shirt, his face pulled tight as he worked his jaw angrily.

“What the _hell_ , Sam? You think I haven’t tried to make him stop? To give up on me? He’s as stubborn as either of us, and full of holy mojo; I can’t keep him from doing anything he wants to do. Don’t you think if I could make him see it ain’t worth it, don’t you think if I could just pound it into his stupid face that I’m a goddamn lost cause, I’d have done it already? That I’d make him see he’s got to-“ A sob hitched his throat, but he pushed through it. “That he’s got to save his power to help you kill me when the time comes?”

The hazel eyes widened, and Sam’s face lost its ferocity in favor of hurt. “Kill you? What are you talking about? Dean, we just got you back!”

Dean’s hands flew up helplessly. “And for how long? I can’t even-Dammit, Sam, I can’t even kill myself because I don’t know what will happen if I do! Even that son of a bitch Gordon would have offed himself if you hadn’t done it first! He had just one last thing to do, he said. Kill you, then kill himself. I don’t even have that! When I was a freaking vampire, I could have done it, but now? The Mark would just bring me back, wouldn’t it? I’ve thought of cutting off my damn arm, but it’s in me, in all of me! So yes,” he screamed in a deep growl, “I need Castiel ready and juiced up to help you take me out when I die next time!”

Angry tears were welling in his brother’s eyes, and Dean felt his heart breaking. He was so tired. He had not been this tired since…maybe since he had to kill Benny. Maybe since he had to watch Bobby’s ghost say goodbye. Maybe since he realized Castiel had betrayed them to fraternize with Crowley. Even in Purgatory, the exhausting, constant rush of adrenaline had not beaten him down in the way this Mark did. The power it gave him was crushed under the guilt and fear of not being able to control it, of what it made him.

He remembered suddenly his counterpart in that gray, nightmare world that could have been, the one in which the Croatoan virus and Lucifer had won. The one reeking of the Horsemen. Where Sam had been gone to him completely and Castiel had given up on all but his duty to follow Dean’s orders, even knowing how it all would end. Because Castiel had known. Castiel had always known how allying himself with the Winchesters would end for him. That broken, stoned Castiel had been no different. He had known Dean better than anyone alive then, and he knew Dean would lead him to his death. He followed the orders because it was Dean, and because no matter what Castiel had become, no matter what he would never be again, he was a soldier, and Dean was his general.

That Dean would have never let this Mark rule him. He would have forced Castiel to see, would have given him an order, not as a general, but as his best friend. He would have made Castiel do what Sam couldn’t. It was the only thing he couldn’t trust Sam to do for him, but Castiel was practical. He knew a losing battle when he saw one; for Christ’s sake, he had been in enough of them over the past few years, alongside his human companions. He would do what needed to be done, if Dean were strong enough to ask. That other Dean would have done it by now. The Dean who had shot a comrade while sharing a beer, who had not even blinked at the thud the man had made hitting the ground, that Dean would have looked in those blue eyes and said _do it_. And Sam would finally be rid of the burden which kept him from that fresh start he wanted so badly. A new life, maybe with Castiel, where they could watch over one another and be comforted. Be loved.

Who wouldn’t want that for their family? For their best friend and their kid brother? Hadn’t these two been through enough, given enough? Couldn’t they just have a life together that didn’t include constant fear, guilt, anger and desperate deals with demons and Death? They could live out the rest of Castiel’s Grace and Sam’s life safe in this bunker, continuing research for future generations of hunters and Men of Letters. They could go to Sweden, or wherever the hell they had been that morning, whenever they felt like some fresh air.

They could just _be_.

And Dean’s job would be done. He could die knowing he had left Sam in good hands, with an angel who had the power and the will to protect him, who would love him until the last. And there was some poetry to the fading Grace. If they conserved it the way they should, perhaps they could even grow old together, something an angel and human had never had before. Perhaps…

A djinn’s dream, maybe. But he had never been able to give Sam what he deserved to have, not with Jess, not with Amelia, not with any of the others that could have become his happiness. Just like he had never been able to be that for Lisa and Ben. Maybe this time…

“Dean, you’re a real bitch, you know that?” Sam’s voice was quiet, but it shook with anger.

“Yeah,” he sighed back. “I’m aware.”

Sam stormed out of the room without another word.

He had seen Sam angry before, more times than he could count. But it was a rare thing when his little brother was too upset even to continue an argument. Dean ran his hand down his face wearily, and looked toward the kitchen down the hall. He would need to clean up the dish Sam had thrown in that direction. He was not even sure what it was Sam had been trying to feed him. All he knew was that eating made him feel sick with guilt. He was torn between forcing himself to eat to be able to defend Sam and Castiel when called upon, and forcing himself not to eat so that if he were to die, the demon would have less to work with. He knew how ridiculous that was. The demon didn’t need food. There was just so little he could do to ensure that what had happened before did not happen again. If he and Castiel could slip into the demon circle while Sam was asleep one night, if he could convince Castiel to do it like that, maybe it would end. But he had to be sure. Until then, his body would not take in anything more than was necessary to keep him alive, because dammit, the demon was still in there, and he refused to feed it.

But liquor was another story. Castiel might have thought he found every stash, but Dean knew the bunker far better than he did, and there were a million places to hide enough alcohol to turn him into an amnesiac, which he would attempt immediately after cleaning the broken ceramic off the floor of his home.

He took one more glance after his brother, then turned toward the mess again, only to find an extremely angry angel in his way. He stumbled backward and cursed in exasperation. “Cas, I swear to that deadbeat Dad of yours that I will-“

Blue fire flashed as Castiel leapt forward to throw Dean back against the wall. “You’ll _what_ , boy?”

Don’t. Piss off. The nerd angels.

Dean’s heart raced in his chest as he tried to shove back against the unyielding arms. Had he learned nothing over the years? Don’t piss off the nerd angels. Castiel had temper issues, just like any good Winchester. The difference was that he remained one of the few beings in existence who could still genuinely frighten the _piss_ out of Dean. Dean, who had taken out Zachariah, who had ended Azazel and Ruby, who had fought everything from ancient gods to Knights of Hell, who had shot Lucifer point-blank in the head (for all the good that had done), and who had tortured Alistair himself, who had taken out crossroad demons and monsters alike, and who had cut off the head of the Leviathans. There was very little left to scare him.

Castiel's blue glare did.


	2. In the Bunker

“What the hell, Cas?” he shouted. He was pinned between Castiel’s left forearm pressed against his chest and the unforgiving wall behind him.

“I know you, Dean Winchester. I remade you from ash, and I know every part of you intimately.”

Dean forced a weak smirk onto his face. “Well, Cas, that’s kind of hot, but-”

The shove of the left arm cut off his words. “Stop talking,” the angel advised very slowly, then began again. “I know you, and I know what you are doing. I won’t hurt your brother.”

He tried to swallow, and choked instead. “Cas, get off me, man,” he wheezed.

There was no mercy in those blue flames. “Why? Because you can’t breathe?”

“Yeah!” he spurted out.

“Isn’t that what you want, Dean? Maybe I’ll just press the life out of you right now, right here in the bunker. Just pinch your air off until you’re gone.”

Sam flew back into the room. “Cas! What’s going on?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam holding a knife, and he wanted to laugh. Not even Ruby’s knife was a match for Castiel, they all knew that. If Castiel had gone off the reservation again, there wasn’t much to be done except talk him down, which left Dean out of options, since he could no longer form sentences.

But when Sam squared his shoulders to face Dean and not the angel, the older man realized with a painful clarity that the knife was not for Castiel at all. Among the two beings in the room who could be harmed by that knife, there was only one for whom it might be necessary.

One hand pushed uselessly against Castiel’s chest, but the other shot up, palm to Sam. “No!” he groaned breathlessly. _It’s me, Sam. It’s still me! I’d never hurt you!_

“Cas?” Sam demanded, eyes steady on Dean’s eyes.

No matter that his vision was narrowing, that his consciousness was faltering. It was the fact that Sam, his kid brother, was watching to see if his eyes turned black that crushed Dean. His knees failed beneath him, and Castiel let him slump to the ground, an expression of disgust on his face.

“He’s quite fine, Sam,” the angel growled in that sandpaper voice.

“Then what the hell were you doing?”

“It is not of-“

Sam whirled on him. “If you tell me that your reasons for strangling my brother are _not of import_ , I will cut that Grace right out of your throat.”

Castiel lowered his eyes and head in a submissive gesture. “Of course, Sam. I apologize.”

“You-you apologize? What the hell-“

Dean coughed reflexively, and gulped in a breath. “He’s right, Sam. Ain’t important,” he wheezed.

Sam’s jaw dropped. Then his face tightened, and he glared viciously. “I’m done,” he snarled. “You two can kill each other if you want. I’m so sick of peacekeeping, especially when you two won’t even freaking talk to me. I don’t even care what’s going on between you two anymore. I’m done with both of you. Jody called me earlier, and I’m going to help her. I should be back by morning.”

“Help her with what?” Dean demanded. He could feel the bruising in his chest, but he tried to scramble to his feet.

His brother laughed humorlessly. “It is not of import.” He turned and stalked out of the room, and Dean heard the familiar slam of a door a moment later.

He pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on for support. As much as he did not want to, he made himself look at Castiel.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” the angel sneered. “Didn’t want Sam to know?”

A glare was his only response. Dean gritted his teeth, and shoved Castiel away from him. “I liked you better as a human.”

“You’ve angered Sam again-“

“Oh, bite me, Cas! I’m not the one who made him go all bitchface! If you weren’t so buckets of crazy-“

Castiel’s anger radiated from him. “Dean, I’m dying, all right? Slower than before, but who knows how long it will be before something in Heaven or Hell or Purgatory or even right here on Earth will come along to fix that? I am dying, and this time, I think it will be permanent. So if you think one of my final acts as an angel of Heaven is going to be assistance in the suicide of a Winchester, you are far more stupid than I ever took you for. Sam hears your voice saying you can’t kill yourself, but I can hear your soul asking me to do it for you!”

Dean could feel his chest tightening, as if Castiel’s arm were still crushing it. He took a breath to reassure himself that he still could. “Cas-“

“I won’t do that to Sam!” he shouted.

As those words hit him in the face, Dean felt his anger dissolve completely. The desperation in Castiel’s voice was devastating. Castiel, dear, proud angel-brother Castiel, was not refusing, regardless of his words and show of strength. He was begging. He was pleading with his best friend not to do this to him, not to ask for something so horrible, which they both knew would break Sam’s heart. Not because he wouldn’t. Castiel had shown time and time again that there was nothing he would not do for his human-brother. But _please, Dean, don’t ask this of me_ was written all over his face.

Dean allowed a smile onto his face, though it felt much more like a grimace. He sighed and shook his head. An arm reached out to touch Castiel’s heaving shoulder. “Cas, I won’t ask your help. If I could have done that to you, I would have by now. I’m not…We’ve been through too much. Stop, man. Just please. Don’t be angry with me. I won’t ask you to do anything like that. Just…if the Mark has its way, Cas, I’m going to turn again. And if that happens…Cas, I know I piss you off, but we’ve been friends a long time. Not even Bobby or Sam; you’re the only person I could ever trust to do this for me. Except maybe my dad. He could have. You know I don’t want to live like that. If I can’t…control it…” He dragged his hand down his face, and gave up fighting against the tears. They rolled unchecked down his face, and he sniffed. “If my eyes turn black again, Cas, you need to end it. End me. That’s all I’m asking. And I’m asking you ‘cause I know you’ll do it. One warrior to another. One hunter to another. Don’t let me live like that. And don’t leave it up to Sam.”

Castiel shook his head sadly, his shoulders slumping as if all his energy had flown from him with one breath. “Dean…”

“Cas, it’s all right. Just make me that promise, and I won’t ask anything worse of you.”

“ _If_ we fail to cure you of the Mark, and _if_ it manages to take hold again, even without Crowley’s assistance, and _if_ it becomes clear that there is no other way…” Castiel sighed in a shudder. “Dean, I will not let you live as a demon. But as long as you are human, I will do everything in my power to keep you alive and well. That must be enough for you.”

Dean reached for him, and pulled him in to a quick embrace. “That’s all I ask,” he confirmed, pounding a bit on Castiel’s back. Then he pushed him away. “All right, Becky. Let’s talk about you and my brother.”

Castiel frowned. “Why…why do you call me…”

A calloused hand rubbed away the tears impatiently, and Dean began to laugh.


	3. Nobody stays dead

Jody had started without him.

He smiled at her as she waved him to the table. “Heya, Jody,” he said warmly, slipping into the booth bench across from her. “How’s…”

“She’s great, Sam. Really great. I mean, she’s a mess. A pain in the ass. But she’s really great.”

“And she’s going with…?”

Jody shrugged. “Differs by the day. We’re going with Alex for now.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Alex. Good. And how are you, Jody?”

She eyed him carefully. “Better than you, I think. Look, I ordered my favorite bottle of wine and my favorite pitcher of beer. You do not want me to finish both on my own. I suggest you get started.”

“Are we celebrating something or consoling ourselves about something?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who called. I figure this stuff is good for either one.”

Sam sighed, and reached for the frosted glass awaiting him, and the pitcher. His arm still bothered him, and he fumbled a bit to pour with his left hand. The memory of Cole’s smart ass remark about being right-handed made him scowl. Jody was watching him as she sipped from her wine glass.

“You want some food?”

“They serve food?” he said stupidly, then blushed.

Jody laughed at him. “See? That’s the kind of thing that makes my mom senses tingle. Yes, Sam. Are you hungry?” She pushed a menu toward him.

He realized that he had not eaten today, and he cleared his throat. “I guess so. Are you eating?”

The sheriff was smiling at him in a way that made him want to hide under the table. Not that he would fit under there. “Sam, you don’t go on a lot of dates, do you?”

“What?” He knew his face was reddening, and it made this even more awkward. He glanced through the menu, and could not help hiding his face in it a bit. 

“Sam, you need to relax. Okay? It’s me. Order some food, and tell me why you were so glad to hear I’d be coming through town. And please tell me it isn’t a monster, because I’m supposed to be on vacation. And you're only kind of on the way to where I'm headed,” she teased.

The waiter approached from behind Jody then, as if she had summoned him by force of will. “Are we ready to order?”

Sam mumbled through a request for a grilled chicken salad, no onions. Jody smiled at the waiter. “Since he’s eating healthy for both of us, I’d like to start with the mousse cake, and then move on to a shrimp linguine.”

A fond warmth came over Sam, as the waiter nodded and left them alone. “So you’re eating dessert first.”

“Life as a friend of the Winchesters has convinced me it’s a good idea.”

“Jess used to do that,” he said quietly. “I’d forgotten all about that.”

“Jess was…your girlfriend?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Back in college. God, it’s been ten years now.”

Jody rolled her eyes. “Sam, was she your last girlfriend?”

The flush was back, and he suddenly wanted to crawl away. “I-I don’t…No, not really. I…a while back…It doesn’t matter.”

The wine bottle poured again, and Sam wondered at the grace with which this woman moved. It reminded him of Castiel somehow. Sam himself still felt like an imbecile at any real restaurant. Like he was still an awkward guest at somebody else’s Thanksgiving dinner.

“Relax, Sam,” Jody advised again. “You called me for a reason. You agreed to meet me somewhere that wasn’t a filthy hole, someplace quieter. I was able to negotiate a step up from a sports bar. That is an indication that you really want to talk.”

He smiled softly. “I told Dean and Cas you called me.”

She laughed, and sat back in her seat. He liked Jody. She was the most…real person he had ever been friends with. Knowing what he now knew about his past, that half of the people important to him had been demon spies and the other half were being manipulated right along with him, it was very hard not to be cautious with every person he developed more than a passing relationship with. And after Amelia…He was so tired of surprises, of drama. He could have seen himself living his whole life out with her. The dog and the girl had both gotten away-but that wasn’t quite right, was it? He had given them up. He had no one to blame for his lonely nights other than himself. Himself and the whole, messed up, broken world, and his whole, messed up, broken life.

But Jody was different. She never pretended anything, she never hid anything. She was one of the strongest people he had ever met, and yet she was the strangest combination of feminine and badass. Dean had found a mother figure in Ellen years ago. Sam was not sure what a mother figure was supposed to be, but he wouldn’t mind thinking of Jody that way. Perhaps that was why he had called her.

“Sam, come on. It isn’t a monster, right?”

“No,” he sighed. “No, I would have told you over the phone if that was what it was. No, it’s a lot more…”

“Personal?”

“Complicated,” he corrected quickly. “I never did this before, you know. I don’t even know how.”

Jody pointed to the beer in front of him. “I sometimes find that helps.” He nodded and pulled it to his lips, nearly draining the glass immediately. She laughed at him. “Wow. Okay. So what is it you don’t know how to do? Aside from take a girl to dinner, that is.”

“I never asked anyone for…you know…Except Dean. I mean, he’s not much help, but when I was a kid, I asked him how to…you know.”

“Hm. ‘Fraid I don’t know. You’ll have to use more words than that.”

But her eyes were sparkling, and he knew she knew where he was going with this. He took a deep breath, finished the beer, and poured another before speaking again. “I remember asking Dean about girls back when that was the problem,” he admitted wryly.

Jody put her glass down, and leaned in a bit. “And that isn’t the problem now?”

“No. Definitely not.” He gulped at his beer, even if it was becoming hard to swallow with his throat tightening the way it was.

She waited. “Okay.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here. Jody, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I called you. I guess-it’s just nice to see you.” The waiter interrupted to bring Jody’s dessert, and she treated him to a bright smile. “You’re amazing, you know that, Jody?”

She turned back to Sam with a laugh. “Yeah? Something tells me it ain’t me you’re struggling to figure out, kid. So, what? You want some advice?”

He closed his eyes miserably. He felt like a complete idiot. What was he doing? Had he really called Jody up to ask her for advice about his feelings for a freaking angel? Was that what he planned to do? _Yes, Jody, I’ve fallen in love with an Angel of the Lord, a guy who has always considered me an abomination, but who has tolerated my friendship because that’s how good he is, and then today, he did this thing where he broke my heart, but he didn’t mean to, and even though I’m a grown man, I’d really like a mom to talk to right now. Also my brother is being a dick while we try to figure out how to cure him of demonhood._ Was that how he expected this to go? What the hell had he been thinking? He finished off his second beer nearly as fast as the first. With shaking hands, he reached for the pitcher.

“You know, I really just want to hear how things have been going with you. We saw you after the…you know…thing. But how have things been with you?”

She rolled her eyes and took a bite of her cake. “Sam, I was married for a very long time. I had a son, and I’m taking care of a feral teenager. Oh, yeah, and I’m also in law enforcement. I know when someone is avoiding talking about something. And you’re not very good at it. So what is it that’s on your mind?”

The words blurted out before he could cage them. “Castiel. The angel. I think I might…”

A thin brown eyebrow raised only a fraction, then Jody took another sip of wine. “So you’re in love with an angel. And?”

He frowned sharply. “And? And what? I’m in love with a freaking angel! A guy angel. Every relationship with a woman has ended horribly, usually with her violent death, so what do I do? I go and fall for a guy angel. Because nothing could possibly go wrong with that.”

“What’s Dean say?”

Sam choked on the beer in his throat, and sputtered a bit. “Dean?” he repeated incredulously. “You think I can talk to Dean about this? You think Dean has any clue about this? He’s an angel, Jody! A guy, whatever, he could get past that, but an angel? _That_ angel?”

“What, he’d prefer Lucifer or somebody?”

“Lucifer is out of the picture.”

This time, both of Jody’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Of course he is. Of course, because you’ve met him.”

Sam grumbled into his glass. “You could say that.”

“Well, that makes sense.” Jody took a breath, and pushed on. “Okay. So you haven’t talked to Dean. That’s why you called me.”

Sam pulled his lips into a false smile. “We don’t have a lot of friends left, Jody. No family. I’ve never done this. Talked to anyone before. You’re such a good person, Jody. I just thought…”

She reached out and took his hand, steadied it in her warm one. “Sam, I am the last one to be giving relationship advice. I tried to date the King of Hell. Remember that?”

Tears were stinging at the backs of hazel eyes. “Yeah. But this isn’t about a relationship. This is about me being stupid. The relationship is the same as it’s always been. We’re friends. We hunt bad guys together. We save the world now and then, just long enough to break it. We try to keep Dean’s head screwed on straight. Nothing has changed between us. It’s just me.” He slapped at his eyes irritably. “Look. I’m wrecked.”

“Well, that I do have some experience with. I once fell for a colleague.”

Sam looked up. “You did?”

“Sure. You work in tight quarters, under constant stress, add in a bit of danger and camaraderie, and you’re bound to get your heart confused eventually.”

 _This_ , Sam thought. _This is why I came to Jody_. He nodded. “Yeah?”

“Sam, look. You’re what? Thirty?”

He shrugged. He would have to do the math later. A lifetime of not celebrating birthdays, punctuated only by the awful one that brought on psychic visions, did not make his age something he could automatically recall.

“Right. And you’ve spent your whole life doing this, am I right?”

Nod.

“And how often do you take a vacation?”

Sam began to frown. His tears had been choked back, but now he was getting confused. He didn’t like that feeling. “Um. Well, Dean and I tried not long ago. We did, we went two days without breaking down and following a case. And we have our annual Vegas week. But that just bankrolls the next six months, for the most part. So it’s not so much a vacation as a fun week at work. And I ended up married there once. But that wasn’t my fault.”

Jody stared for a moment, then nodded again. “Right. So you’ve never really had what you’d call a normal relationship with anybody. You don’t take girls on dates. You don’t take vacations where you can just meet people. I’m guessing your college girlfriend didn’t know anything about you.”

“Rule one,” Sam said with a sad smile. “We do what we do and we don’t talk about it. Ever.”

“Okay. Your first time staying in one place for more than a week is some secret hideout in the middle of nowhere.”

“A safe house,” he confirmed vaguely.

“Ever worked a real job?”

He lowered his eyes. “Sort of. Day labor stuff, mostly. I assisted a professor in school. And I worked at a bar for a week or two once, before some angry hunters tracked me down.”

“Your best example of a happy, healthy marriage was Bobby Singer, who killed his wife? Twice?”

He simply sighed.

“Sam, I bet this guy is great. He would have to be to put up with you and your brother for any length of time. And an angel. I mean that’s…that’s something. You can’t expect to not develop feelings for somebody over time, and honestly, who else are you going to fall for?”

“Without hitting a dog,” he groaned to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing. So you’re saying that it’s just because Cas is the only one around, and because we work so closely with each other. Not love, just lack of better options.” The words gave him a strange feeling. On one hand, he felt a bit of relief. On the other, it did not seem fair to Castiel somehow. He was so much more than that. A hero, a warrior. He was at the same time as vulnerable and awkward as Sam himself, and as strong and as much of a fighter. He was the only angel who truly understood free will, who believed things could be better. He was fiercely loyal, and even when he messed up, he did it with such conviction, with his whole heart and soul, that Sam could not help but admire him for it. Every action Castiel took was selfless. He did not always choose the right path, but he did everything he did in order to serve those he loved: Heaven, God, humans, and the Winchesters in particular. His charisma, his strength, were just intoxicating. He was charming without even meaning to be.

Jody blinked. “No. I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying, of course you’re falling for this guy. Who else can you share everything with? Who else is going to understand anything about your life? Who else can you possibly share a life like this with? I mean, Sam, everybody you meet in your life gets eaten by a monster or gets saved by you and Dean. That’s not much to build a relationship on. You’re a nomad, tearing through town by town and city by city, saving people and kicking monster ass, coming every time a local sheriff calls you for help. Up to your ass in trouble every week. And this guy can keep up with you? Sam, any angel who can fly fast enough to keep up with you, and any guy you trust as much as you must trust him, he’s a keeper. He’s at this safe house of yours right now, somewhere in the state of Nebraska or Kansas. Probably Kansas. Never been invited, can’t be sure. How many people in the world, not named Winchester, even know where that is?”

Sam took a breath. Jody was right. “Um. Actual people? Not many. Three or so. There’s this ghost that used to live there, at-at least one demon-that doesn’t matter. Not many.”

“Uh huh. Little jealous there. Anyway, so you trust this guy.”

“With so much more than my life,” Sam breathed.

She touched his hand again, and it startled him. But she graciously pretended not to notice. “So what’s the problem, Sam? You’ve found someone who can live this life with you. Not someone who is going to need you to be something you’re not.”

A strangled noise emitted from his throat, and he was too miserable to be embarrassed. “The problem,” he choked, “isn’t Cas. It’s me.”

“You don’t think he feels the same.”

He stared at her. “Of course he doesn’t! He’s an angel! And I’m…”

“You’re…?”

Hazel eyes closed tightly. “He kissed me today. It was like I’d been hit by a truck. It was…amazing. But he’s this giant child, this completely innocent thing. Not even our species, Jody. And he’s got no clue…He just does this thing where he experiments, tries to be a good human. And he sucks at it. Give the guy a demon to gank, and he’s a stone cold warrior. Then you try to watch a movie with him, or anything else normal, and he’s completely out of his league. He kissed me, and he doesn’t even know what that means!” He swallowed his beer, but he did not taste it. “I can’t let him…I can’t let him think it doesn’t mean anything. It feels like a betrayal somehow, to take from him and let him think it’s just…nothing to me like it is to him. Like I’m just introducing him to British comedy or something.” Sam knew his train of thought was completely out of control. He was sputtering nonsense, trying to explain to Jody-to himself-why it was not okay to just be Castiel’s experiment. Why it was so wrong to be so absolutely in love with an angel in the first place, and why it was so wrong to let him stain himself by touching an abomination like Sam Winchester. Why loving Castiel meant protecting him from the consequences of entangling his soul with a human heart. “The guy has seriously no concept of human social-He doesn’t even get personal space, and I’m supposed to just let him think it’s fine to go around kissing people? He’s going to break somebody’s heart, and I know him, he’ll feel like shit, and he’ll never want to interact with a human again. And I can’t let him think I’m not…”

“In love with him?”

Sam snorted, but the waiter arrived before he could get out whatever snarky comment was bubbling up in him. He thanked the man quietly, and stabbed at his salad.

“Sam?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here, Jody,” he mumbled.

The sheriff threw her hands in the air. “Sam, you’re talking to a friend about having your heart broken. Pay attention.”

For some reason, this struck emotionally fatigued Sam as ridiculous. He began to laugh, and unlike his laughter this morning, it did not dissolve into desperation. It felt as though his whole body were lighter, like the tension in his throat were finally relieved for the first time in…maybe weeks. He could hear his laughter pouring out, and he put his hand on his forehead, closing his eyes, and just relished it.

Jody let him.

When he had brought himself under control, he reached across the table to touch her hand gently. “Jody, it’s been a really, really hard…”

“Life?” she guessed.

“Few weeks,” he amended with lowered eyes. “And a friend like you is a rare thing. Thank you for letting me talk. For, you know, for listening. I’ve never…Anyway, I’m not really good at talking, and it won’t change much when it comes to Cas, but it makes me feel better having you listen.”

She squeezed his hand, and seemed about to respond, when suddenly she frowned. “Were you expecting someone?” she asked sharply, in a voice he recognized as belonging to Sheriff Mills, not Jody.

Sam tensed immediately, and whipped his head around to look over his shoulder where she was staring. He could tell in an instant what had caught her attention. Sam had worked with a partner for long enough to trust that Jody was behind him as he stood, reaching for her sidearm just as his hand tightened around the hilt of his blade, concealed in his jacket, as the other hand readied to pull his gun from his waistband.

The hustle of the restaurant faded away, and he and Jody found themselves standing in a small field, surrounded by woods all around them. He was ready to pounce, but the location change disoriented him, and he could hear Jody stumble behind him.

His voice was cold when he spoke again. His mouth curled into a distorted snarl, and the name came out like hiss. “Cuthbert Sinclair,” he growled. “How the hell-“

“Now, Sam, I think you know I prefer Magnus now.”

***

“I don’t think I want details,” Dean cautioned.

But it was too late. Castiel was giving them anyway. “It was…I suppose it was much like being electrocuted must feel for a human.”

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted loudly. “Well, Cas, I happen to know exactly what that feels like.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been electrocuted?”

“Yeah, matter of fact. It feels like a freaking heart attack. Funny you weren’t there for that, since Sam spent so much time praying his damn heart out. Took a reaper to keep me from checking out. Sam about lost his mind. But you know. Whatever. You were busy with…Heaven things.”

The angel stared at him for a moment, then took a breath. “Then I apologize for both the analogy and for the fact that I was not yet tasked with hearing your prayers.”

Something about that tickled at Dean’s bullshit detector. “Wait. I thought you were destined or some shit to be our own personal feathered guardian asshat.”

There was a pause as Castiel licked his lips. Dean waited with a raised eyebrow. “That I was always meant to be your guardian is true to a point. There were many in my garrison who could potentially have filled that purpose.”

“I don’t believe that.”

A humorless chuckle fell from Castiel’s mouth; bitterness flavored his words. “Do you truly believe that Zachariah would have approved a defect such as myself to become the guardian of the storied Winchesters if every detail were worked out ahead? Some things, Dean, even within destiny, are left to chance through necessity. I will never know what it was that caused me to reach you in Hell instead of Uriel, for example.”

Dean’s stomach lurched at the thought. “Jesus Christ, can you even imagine what the world would be like right now? Junkless was the one who wanted to smite whole cities in order to keep things in line.”

Castiel shrugged with a sour smile. “It was Uriel’s job. We were all soldiers. But we each had a certain level of…specialization.”

“Yeah, so what was your specialty?” Dean produced a flask from his jacket, and imagined for a moment that it was Bobby’s. Something about that comforted him. Something about Uriel being his guardian angel made him need what was inside the flask.

The angel was watching him. The look on his face made Dean wonder if he was judging him for drinking or considering joining him in it. “I have been blessed with many specialties. Causing chaos, disobedience, pandemonium, being generally insouciant and unreliable; also being gullible and prone to losing touch with reality.”

“Wow. That was…kind of catty, Cas. I think I’ll call you Catty Cas from here on.”

“You will not,” came the bland response.

Dean laughed and took another swig from his flask. The first had not even registered with his brain. It was like water at this point. But this gulp he identified as whiskey, and if he tried, he might even recall when he had poured it into the container. He did not want to try. Supplying his hidden flasks with liquor was as much a routine as brushing his teeth. He did not want to think about how automatic it had become.

“I was good in combat,” Castiel said vaguely. When Dean did not speak, but watched him expectantly, he gave a sigh. “I was known for eliminating enemies economically on the battlefield, and for sapient strategy.”

“Yeah? Why we always seem to lose then?”

Blue eyes raised to glower deep into green ones.

Dean threw up his free hand with a laugh. “I’m just messing with you, man. You’re the best warrior anybody ain’t named Winchester could hope to be.” His laugh shook the flask as he raised it to his lips again. “Think I’d let anybody less move in on my brother?”

Castiel swallowed, and the confused frown only made his friend laugh harder. “I don’t know…I thought we had finished talking about Sam.”

“Like you’re ever finished talking about Sam,” Dean sighed, sobering fractionally. “Okay, buddy. You liked kissing him. Totally don’t need any more detail than that. So, what? Are you a thing yet?”

“I am an angel.”

“You’re a…” Dean shook his head, and allowed himself a few gulps before screwing a cap back on and returning the flask to his jacket. “You’re an angel. Right. I meant you and Sam. Is that a thing?”

Suddenly the angel’s eyes took on that dangerous glint again. “It would certainly help if I were not required to kill his brother.”

“Dude, I said I’m not…Can we please just talk about something that might actually make my kid brother happy? I’m going to do everything in me to keep that other stuff from happening, Cas, to keep it from coming to that. So stop glaring at me and shoving me at walls, and tell me what you’re going to do to make my brother less miserable.” He raised his hand again. “But without details.”

Castiel seemed to be considering how best to complete that request. He stood and paced to the other side of the room, leafing absently through books as he passed by them. He was quiet for a long time, but Dean waited. Castiel could never sit still. He could probably stand at attention, alert, for centuries, but sitting was never a position he could hold for long. At last, he turned back to Dean, though his eyes remained on his own hands. “It may not matter,” he murmured.

After all that silence, it was not what Dean had expected. He wondered if he might need to share the whiskey. “What’s that mean?”

Irritation, perhaps even embarrassment, flushed Castiel’s pale features. “It means, Dean, that your brother does not want me to make him happy.”

This revelation caused some conflict in Dean. On one hand, he hoped Castiel might be right, that his brother was still only attracted to manipulative bitch monsters and doomed females who were at least mostly human. That was something Dean had come to find familiar. Angels were something else entirely. He had not supported Sam’s relationship with Ruby, certainly, but at least he knew he could kill that. Killing bitches who tried to hurt his brother-that was his job. Angels, though. They didn’t die easy. It was important that anything that could get close to his brother be something Dean could take out if necessary. On the other hand, he had accepted the idea that Castiel would be the one who would protect Sam in Dean’s absence, that the angel would be able to give Sam both security and comfort. And he knew Castiel could make his brother happy. No matter what the stupid angel said. He knew his brother.

“Shut up. He does too.” He sighed. “Cas, you’ve been with us for years. You have to know he’s…you know.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel snapped back in frustration. “You and Sam always say that, you say ‘you know’ when it is uncomfortable to say something aloud, but all it does is exasperate me! I never know!”

If it weren’t so pitiful, Dean might have laughed at this explosion. But not even he could laugh at the look on his friend’s face. “Hey, hey. Okay, man. I’m sorry. I just mean, he’s been fascinated with you for a very long time. With the exception of some of his time spent without a soul, and some of your time as God 2.0, you two have had some kind of connection even I couldn’t miss. No matter how much I might have wanted to.”

Castiel stared a little too intently. “We have?” Then he frowned. “Why might you have wanted to be unaware of it?”

Dean wanted his flask back, but he resisted the urge to reach for it. “Cas, it doesn’t surprise me that Sam might be open-minded enough to consider guys. There was a time back when he was in high school I thought he might be into a guy I ran with for a few weeks while we were staying at Uncle Bobby’s.” He smiled suddenly at his own voice. “Jesus, Uncle Bobby. Haven’t called him that since I was like eight years old or something. Anyway, he was never real comfortable in his own skin, right, but he also never had any issue with, you know…” He cleared his throat. “You don’t know. I mean with Sam, it was always about the person, you know? Sure, he likes pretty girls. Everybody does, right? But he’s always been so much more interested in where somebody was coming from than their body, I guess. First time the guy got laid, he couldn’t even tell me what she looked like after, you know, just kept going on about how wonderful she was. I think it could have just as easily been a guy, and if it were the same person inside, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

The angel was still frowning, but it was softer now. “Sam is quite sagacious in his ability to find good in people.”

“Except himself, maybe,” Dean murmured. “Anyway, I’m saying, it ain’t that bugging me. You know? The gender thing. I’ll tease the crap out of him for it, but that’s just for fun.” He received a narrowed glare for that last comment.“It’s that it’s…you!” he admitted finally, realizing there was no way to be honest other than to just say it. “Look, Cas, I love you, man. I do. You’re one of us. Family.”

“But you worry I’m not good enough for your brother.”

“Nobody’s good enough for my brother, Cas. That ain’t it. If anybody were good enough, it’d be you, Cas. I swear. If you can make my brother happy, you have my blessing and I will die to protect whatever life you and Sam choose to make. But, Cas, you’re also my best friend.”

Castiel looked startled. “Is that…how you see me?”

The green eyes stared at him. “Jesus, dude, do I have to say it again? This is turning into a chick flick. I’m just saying it’s weird to think of a guy I love as a brother hooking up with my actual brother.”

It seemed to take a moment for Castiel to process these words. But at last, he looked down at his feet. “I see. Does it not have to do with me being an angel, then?”

“What? Yes! Of course it has to do with you being an angel!”

A dark eyebrow shot up. “Dean, I’m thoroughly confused. Either that, or you are.”

“Cas, my brother deserves to have a normal relationship, with someone who can grow old with him. Maybe my knowledge of angels is sketchy, but that isn’t something normally possible. Am I wrong?”

Castiel shook his head quietly. “Not normally, no.”

“But things are different now. You aren’t a normal angel, Cas,” Dean said with a smile. “You’re the greatest angel who ever lived. I mean, after all, you’re the only angel who’s ever going to be a Winchester.”

“What…”

“You know, if you’re staying on Earth, you’re going to need a name. I’m not talking about hunting. For that, I’ll make a fake ID for you whatever alias you want to choose, but to us, you’ll always be Cas Winchester.”

Dean was shocked to see tears in the blue eyes. He was not even sure he knew true angels were capable of crying. Castiel took a shuddered breath, blinked hard, and it was gone, but Dean knew he had seen it. “It’s an honor to be part of your family, Dean. And I will always do everything I can do to make Sam happy. Whatever he wants from me, I’ll give with all my Grace.”

The man smiled to himself. “Heart, Cas. Humans give themselves with all their hearts.”

“Yes. All my heart. It belongs to Sam.”

***

“I could rip your heart out of your chest and watch it beat. Not many people could do that, you know.” Magnus was smiling like a little boy at Christmas. It made Sam sick.


	4. Episode 199.5 in Red Cloud

“I could rip your heart out of your chest and watch it beat. Not many people could do that, you know.” Magnus was smiling like a little boy at Christmas. It made Sam sick. The easy grin turned to Jody then. “But I know better. Sweetheart, do you know what kind of man you are entangled with?”

Jody glowered at him. “Better than you,” she snapped, pulling against her binds.

“She’s just some woman,” Sam corrected quickly. “Just let her go so you and I can settle…whatever this is. I just met her at the restaurant; she seemed nice. If you’ve got an issue, it’s with me.”

“Think so? Maybe I came to meet her, and you just happened to be there.”

A crackle in the woods pulled Sam’s attention, and he narrowed his eyes to search the dark.

 “Relax, friends!” Magnus said graciously. “You’re safe here with me! Well.” He reached up to straighten his bow tie. “Until I decide to kill you. Which may be soon, by the way.”

“What do you want, Sinclair?”

“Please, Sam, manners. In my time, we conversed before anyone slit anyone else’s throat.” The smile took on a dangerous quality. “But then things have changed. You were ready to do that the moment we met, and every moment after. Dean was the one with the Mark and the Blade, but you? You’re just an angry little boy, aren’t you, Hunter?”

Sam could feel Jody’s eyes on him, but his eyes were steady on the figure he knew was just out of the reach of his vision, beyond the darkness. “Who’d you bring from your collection, Sinclair? I thought we had purged-“

“And you _thought_ you had killed me too, didn’t you?” the man responded with a growl. Then he smiled again, seeming to restore his temper to its proper place on a dusty shelf. “Men of Letters, Hunters, idiots. How many times do I have to tell you? Science and magic, friends. It’s the future and the ancient, all right here in my hands. And if you think that doesn’t include illusion, well, you just don’t have much imagination. Fortunately, I do.”

The man bit the insides of his cheeks hard, grinding out his rage. “What did you bring with you, Sinclair?” he demanded again.

He was too far from Jody. It wasn’t just that he was bound at the wrists and the neck to this tree, wasn’t just that he couldn’t move his head to see her. He could feel the distance between them. On a hunt, Sam could always feel where his partner was. When he lost his sense of Dean’s location, it was the only time he was ever truly afraid. It was like they were tethered, and he knew just what it would take to reach out and touch his arm, or to leap to his side. They had fought together for so long, it was practically a _smell_ , the distance between him and his brother at all times. Even when he fought alongside the Campbells, he had maintained a constant awareness of their proximity to him, though admittedly, he had not cared much for their survival, except that it increased the odds of his own. And when Castiel was in on a fight, it was like the angel radiated something from him, like sonar, and Sam could have fought with him while blind. When Castiel fought, truly fought, he exploded into a terrific tsunami of power, of _purpose_. There was no mistaking where Castiel was during a fight. Sam was used to a perfect awareness of the location of every piece and pawn on the board. It was not for nothing that he deemed Jody _too far_.

“Just one of my very favorite pieces. Mind you, that distinction could have been held by your brother. He could have been my most prized possession, or half of it, at least, part of a mint box set, as the kids call it. Prized possession.” Magnus snickered to himself happily. “Puns! Love that. But really, I have been following my investment’s work, and I suppose possessed doesn’t quite cover it, does it? No, Dean is a Knight, isn’t he?”

Sam heard Jody squirm against her tree. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, so the lady doesn’t know?”

“Let her go, Magnus.”

The man’s eyes lit up, making the darkness surrounding him looked even more foreboding. “Ah, finally respect for my chosen moniker. And no. Your friend here is a beauty, and I suspect you know her better than you let on, maybe someone you care about enough to keep alive. Perhaps I’ll have more luck using her life against you than I did using yours against your brother.”

“Sam, what’s he talking about?” Jody grunted, but Magnus’s hand moved in a small gesture, and the strap around her neck was suddenly in her mouth, still pinning her to the tree. She gave a yelp of surprise, but her cursing was muffled.

“I offered Dean the moon,” the man continued without a glance at her. “He didn’t know what to do with it, the poor stupid man. Now this pet of mine…he knows just what to do with the moon.”

Color drained from Sam’s face as a quiet growl sounded from the darkness, and increased in intensity. “You’ve leashed a werewolf?” he cried.

“Not just a werewolf. A beautiful hybrid! A creature referred to as The Mother of All once came to Earth, a few years back, and experimented on her children. She made them better and stronger. Some pesky hunters took her out while she worked on her masterpiece, but that’s neither here nor there. Simply means that what I’ve found is so much more rare than it would have been had she lived. And you know I enjoy rare things.”

The hunter took a breath, as much as he could around his binds. “A Starship,” he murmured. “Thought they were all-“

“Dead? Of course not. You always assume things are dead. You’re still trying to figure out if I’m dead. I’m not, by the way. Not at all.”

“Lucky us,” Jody forced through the gag in a distorted voice.

“Hush, woman. Now that’s quite interesting, Sam. You called it a…what? A Starship? Is that a metaphor for something?”

“Just let us go.”

Magnus sighed. “Of course. Try to have an intelligent conversation with a hunter. It’s always, ‘Let me go. Don’t kill me. You can’t have my ancient, priceless artifacts. You can’t take my brother as your companion and possession.’ Really, Sam. The protests get old after a while.”

Hazel eyes struggled to find shapes in the darkness. It was not just one, but how many, he could not determine. Unless he was wrong, it seemed as though they were walking on four feet, pacing behind Magnus just out of view. Perhaps they were not Starships like they had encountered before, but he had no doubt they were hybrids of some sort. Magnus knew his toys, that was certain. Who knew how many times Eve had experimented before creating the things they had hunted, before Dean had allowed himself to be bitten in order to kill Eve herself?

“What do you want from us, Sinclair?” Sam demanded, almost wearily. He hoped his voice hid the panic bubbling up his throat. Being tied down was never one of Sam’s best positions, and he had to protect Jody. “If it’s a knife to the heart, you’ve come to the right place. Otherwise, you’ve got the wrong man.”

The growling persisted, and now he was certain there were several in the pack.

“These…Starships as you call them, they are a box set as well,” Magnus purred, as if he could read Sam’s mind. “Your brother and his blade, oh my. They are a gorgeous matched pair. But since the unfortunate incident during our previous encounter, I’ve done a bit of research. I had apparently been neglectful in my reading before, but now I have learned something quite interesting about the younger of the Winchesters.”

Sam’s mouth went dry, and he tried to glance at Jody before he realized the binds would not enable him to do so. “Bite me, Sinclair,” he hissed.

“Oh my. My, my, my. Isn’t that interesting? Your lady friend has no idea about that then? Fine. We can keep secrets. I’m quite fond of secrets. They’re more valuable the fewer who know them, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sam felt a sudden movement near him, and when he strained to look, he knew Jody was gone from this place. He thrust into the binds holding him with a feral shriek. “Where is she?” he screamed. “What did you do to her?”

“Enough, Sam! I’ve put her somewhere she can’t interfere with our business. She’ll be fine. I’m not uncivilized. Just relax. We have much to discuss, Demon Child.”

***

Dean glanced at his phone, and Castiel sighed in relief. They had not heard from Sam yet, and it had been worrying him. He could have “popped out” as Dean had suggested, to search for the man, but it seemed like a violation of trust to do so when Sam had clearly not intended for them to follow. Even so, it was good to hear Dean’s phone indicate a message. He simply wanted to know that Sam was all right, that this Jody person was not putting him in some sort of danger.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean murmured, and snapped to his feet. The books on the table were forgotten, and the man raced to his bedroom. Castiel frowned after him, and took the few seconds that was required to change into his usual attire. It seemed they were needed after all. Dean emerged a moment later with his Colt 1911, checking the chamber as he hurried down the stairs, dressed in boots and jeans, and an olive green jacket. “Hurry up,” he barked. It was unnecessary; Castiel was in step with him, but he supposed it made Dean feel better to be giving orders. The angel did not ask, simply strode quickly with his friend to exit. “Sam took the Impala. Don’t have time anyway. You got to get us to Nebraska.”

“Specifically?”

“Just across the border. Red Cloud off 281. Now, Cas.”

Castiel completed his task with ease, and Dean literally hit the ground running once they arrived in a small town on the border. “Dean!” he shouted finally. “Where are we going?”

“Hospital,” Dean rasped as he looked around him frantically. “Jody, she’s there. Community Hospital.”

Castiel’s hand tightened on his angel blade, and grabbed Dean’s arm. “Specificity,” he snapped, and the world around them fluttered again. This time, Dean’s balance wavered a bit, and Castiel steadied him. They were outside a hospital now, a red brick building that looked more like a school than a modern medical center.  

Dean recovered quickly, and bolted for the door, jamming his firearm into his waistband. Castiel similarly tucked his blade back into his sleeve, and followed without another word. Castiel was quite comfortable with following orders, and Dean had been the leader of their pack for very long time now. But that did not mean his wings did not bristle a bit at being kept in the dark, simply because Dean trusted him to follow orders. Obviously this was to do with Sam’s safety, and he would do whatever it took to secure his friend. But he felt it would help to know what was going on, at least as much as Dean did.

Castiel stood, taking stock of their surroundings, until Dean was finished speaking to the woman at the front desk. Without alerting Dean to his movement, he disappeared for a few seconds to search the town. There was no trace of Sam anywhere, but he did not share this information while they were among other humans.

 “Thank you,” Dean was saying, and they strode quickly down a hall to a room inhabited by a dark-haired woman who lay wheezing on a bed. Her eyes widened when she saw them, and she began shaking her head and trying to speak, waving her cell phone at them frantically. “Cas,” Dean barked, nodding at the woman briefly.

Castiel stepped forward and touched the female’s forehead.

She took a deep gasp as his power flowed through her, opening her airway, which had been tightened dangerously as though she had been strangled. He felt his Grace flush against her skin, healing cuts and bruises she probably did not even know she had, repairing a torn muscle in her calf, and another tear behind her knee where she had evidently twisted too sharply.

The female’s relief was audible. Castiel smiled tightly at her. Worry about Sam prevented him from it now, but it had always filled him with satisfaction to bring that comfort and ease to a human in pain. It was less so when he healed Dean, who always snapped at him immediately after. This woman, however, gave him such a look of gratitude that he paused in his urgency to touch her hand as well, and squeeze it gently. “You are a friend of Sam’s,” he said. It was both a question and an explanation.

She nodded, and dragged her eyes reluctantly from the angel’s to Dean’s worried face. “He’s in trouble.”

Dean’s jaw and eyebrow were tensing severely. “Where is he?”

Castiel glanced at him, reading his face. Always _where_. Dean never needed to know what or why. Where was Sam, and how did he get to him? Everything else could be pieced together along the way. Castiel admired the warrior’s courage, but questioned his strategy. “What is it he is dealing with?” he asked quietly.

Jody related to them a fantastic story about a man in a bow tie who talked about collecting rare things and who Sam alternated between calling Magnus and Sinclair something. Castiel’s eyes slid back to Dean. “You know this man? Is it a man?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Dean snarled. “I already killed the bastard once. Rare things-he tried to collect me like a freaking action figure. Now he’s got Sam, and I’m going to make good and sure he’s dead this time.” 

Castiel pushed the memory of having once _been_ an action figure aside, and nodded. “A man,” he confirmed again.

“Yeah, but not just any man.” Jody spoke up again. “He’s got some kind of ability, like psychic or something. And he tried to tell Sam he could rip his heart out and watch it beat. Like it was all a game. And there are the Starships.”

Two sets of eyebrows shot up. “Starships?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Look, maybe that’s not what Sam said, but that’s what it sounded-“

“No,” Dean interrupted. “It’s what he said. So what?” He turned to Castiel. “This guy found a few spare Jefferson Starships lying around in storage and brought them out to play with Sammy? That doesn’t make much sense. He must be trying to get to me again.”

“Why did he want you?”

Dean’s face twisted with pain and fury. “Didn’t you know? I’m a collector’s item. One of a kind, and still in the package. I’m both a Knight of Hell and heir to Cain.”

“When the hell did that happen?” Jody demanded. “And what was this Sinclair guy saying about learning something new about Sam? He acted like he wanted him for some reason too.”

Castiel could hear Dean suck in his breath through his teeth, and his own stomach tightened strangely. “The boy with the-“

Dean whirled on him. “That’s it. I’m killing the bastard. Jody, where the hell is he?”

She was watching Castiel, but she responded apologetically. “I don’t actually know. We were in the restaurant one second, and in the woods another. For all I know, we weren’t even still in Red Cloud, or Nebraska, at all.”

“He’s not here, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “I’ve checked.”

“You’ve…Okay, Cas. Tell me when you’re doing crap like that. I don’t need to lose track of you too, capiche?” 

“I capiche,” Castiel allowed. “What do we do now?”

Jody turned to stare at the figure in the trenchcoat with new interest. “Wait. Cas?”

“I am Castiel. A friend.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Not if Sam has anything to say about it,” she muttered vaguely. She ignored the irritated glare from Dean, and the confused head tilt from Castiel. “Well, Castiel, aren’t angels supposed to be pretty powerful things? That’s what you are, right?” She received a blink, then a nod. “Well, strap on your wings and grab your harp. Sam needs us.”

In spite of the situation, Dean’s lips twitched at that. “Harp,” he snickered.

“I have never been a part of the actual choir,” Castiel was saying, but Jody interrupted.

“Come on, boys! I don’t think Sinclair means to kill him, but those Starship werewolf things didn’t seem like they just want to lick his face. Six of them, I think. It was dark, hard to tell. But I’ve got an idea how to find this guy.”

Dean’s face hardened again. “How?”

“Well, I’m not a Knight of Hell or an angel, gentlemen, but I’m a sheriff of a rural area. I know how to use GPS. He used some kind of ability to bind Sam, but the jackass made a point of tying me up without the use of any weirdness. So I made a point to fall into him, and let my phone slip into his ridiculous suit pocket.”

“Now, Jody, I never took you for a pick pocket.”

“It’s referred to as putting, actually. Kids with drugs do it to each other when they see me coming. Let’s go.”

 

***


	5. In Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But then there's Hell. It's...complicated. And a bit boring.

If there were ever a time that Crowley actually _wanted_ to be summoned, now would probably be it. He cupped his chin in his palm and made no attempt to hide his loathing and crushing boredom. 

It wasn’t as though he didn’t find these meetings necessary. After all, he was the one who had tamed Hell into a beautiful bureaucracy, leading it out of its antiquated and obsolete chaos. There was law now, and he was it. When Lucifer had been master, it was more like a constant rave, and while the dance parties and level of inebriated debauchery had been quite fun, there had been no order. Lucifer had never been a leader. He had been little more than myth for most of creation, locked inside a box, sleeping and dreaming of using the great power he had been born to. There were rules, certainly, and the honorable among them followed them to the letter, as did the intelligent, such as Crowley himself. He knew the benefit of rules such as adherence to a contract. Not that he was above finding loopholes. In fact, he took quite a bit of pride in that ability, himself. But a contract was a contract. It was not about honor, but just good business.

The King sighed heavily, listening to the droning voices of the bureaucrats. The accountants had given their reports, and he had drifted off during the part about petitioners. They could wait. He knew he really should be attentive for the bit about Abaddon’s remaining soul caches, but he had a smart general on that already, and he really could not bring himself to care. His mind floated off to better times. Not just his time trying to convince Dean they made a good team. A great loss that had been, he cringed, considering how powerful they could have been together. But he also yearned for the time when he did what he excelled at most. He had been the King of the Crossroads for a reason. He could remember a time he had conducted business with nearly a whole family worth of humans out in Texas, and had secured a ranch hand’s soul to boot. He had been straightforward with them all, if they were paying attention, which he had ensured they were not. He had never hidden what he was: a salesman. He had never hidden what he dealt in: souls. But humans heard what they wanted to hear, and he gave them what they wanted to have. The ranch hand had been the interesting one. Ordinarily, he did not deal with children. Too many loopholes to his disadvantage there. But this was no child. She may not have been an adult by human standards, but Crowley had peeked at her soul and heart, and found a girl much older than her years. He had made the call, that she was within her rights to bargain, and he had claimed her, in exchange for her mother’s health. Something like that. The details were fuzzy. But it was times like that, when he made a judgement after careful consideration, and he got the job done, that had earned him the right to call himself King of the Crossroads. 

But King of the Crossroads meant very little when there was no one paying attention at the top. He had grown weary of securing souls for the power of demons who wasted it on selfish, childish ambitions. True, he had been paid well for his work, but what did it matter when Hell was in such complete disarray that even the King of the Crossroads preferred his time on Earth? Most demons preferred to be on Earth, but that was because they were the dregs, the ones who were at the mercy of those bigger and badder than they. In the upper echelons, to which Crowley had clawed his way, things were different. Crowley had pulled himself up from nothing, from the lowest of humanity on Earth to the highest among the tainted things in Hell. Amazing what a bit of intelligence and a good tailor could do if one were ruthless enough.

So he had worked himself up the ranks, and other demons had learned to stay out of his way or serve him. A few carefully timed assassinations had opened up opportunities among the elite. Not that there was a true hierarchy at that time. There were the Knights, the lords, and everyone else. Lucifer was mostly a non-entity. Some said his will was so strong, it was transferred to the Knights and to certain others, such as that deranged lunatic Azazel. What Azazel had been thinking, Crowley could not even guess. How could it be that only he could see how Lucifer’s plan would go? That the demons would get eaten up just as the humans, and that the Morningstar would never stop at the rule of Hell and Earth, but would settle for nothing less than the complete sovereignty over Heaven as well. Where would that leave his loyal demon followers? Just as Crowley seemed to be the only one who knew better than to underestimate the Moose and his big brother the Black-Eyed Squirrel, it seemed that he was the only one who saw how the Apocalypse would have ended for all of them. 

“Sir?” 

Crowley blinked. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“No, um. Sir, we’re finished. Just…looking for your ruling.”

He took a breath, then sighed it out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Write up the minutes, and I’ll read them over. Keeps me having to listen to you lot babbling all over again.” 

His advisors all looked at one another. 

“Have I…been unclear?” He said it with a threatening tone, but part of him was beginning to wonder if perhaps he sometimes spoke at a frequency at which others could not comprehend. Castiel occasionally had that issue, he remembered having heard once.

It would be inaccurate to say he missed the angel. But it was always fun getting his feathers all tangled, and making his face do that thing it did whenever Crowley spoke in his vicinity. 

“No, sir. Of course not. We just…” The female took a breath and dove in. “Sir, Your Excellency…”

“Try again,” he said, putting his forehead down into his hand, regretting the amount of timidity which always seemed to surround him. Those who were smart enough to tremble at his presence were also often infuriatingly slow with communication, and the ones who were first to speak up…well, that type of stupid often was rewarded with pain. It wasn’t any wonder, then, that he was inflicted with a numbingly passive board of directors. 

“Sir, we expected that you would give an order on the Winchester situation right away.”

“It is time sensitive,” another murmured with a timorous tremble in his voice.

Crowley stopped rubbing his eyelids, and opened them slowly. “What has Dean done now?” he growled.

They looked at one another again. “Uh. It’s the younger of the two, sir. Samuel.”

The King ground his teeth. “Moose. Did he die again?”

The female spoke up again. (What was her name? Didn’t matter. He was firing her right after this meeting. Being fired in Hell, of course, was quite literal.) “No, sir. Not yet. He’s been…collected.”

“What in Hell does that mean?”

An older demon snickered. “Crowley, your pet Moose has gotten himself caught by the one who calls himself Magnus. It appears Magnus has discovered his little bloody secret.”

Crowley looked at him carefully. He liked Malphas. As a one-time loyalist to Lucifer, he had seen the tides of change and had graciously accepted Crowley’s invitation to join in the regime change. Eons ago, Malphas had been considered Lucifer’s right hand, and he served him well. But Crowley had long suspected that Malphas actually had no love for the angel, that he too looked toward a time when demons ruled their own. Once the cage was broken and Lucifer leapt from it, Crowley had taken the opportunity to order Malphas to rebuild it, stronger than ever, in the hopes that the idiot angels and hunters could toss him back in. He had been grateful for his foresight-there was no way the old cage would have contained both Lucifer and Michael, complete with two Winchester suits, if great Malphas had not used his skill to reinforce its walls. The fact that Castiel had managed to squeeze Sam Winchester’s hulk through a sliver of a crack in the wall was not without design. Lucifer and Michael would never be able to use that crack, but a nostalgic part of Crowley, a part grateful for what the Winchesters had done, and a part which suspected they could still be useful, had ordered Malphas to allow for that one tiny flaw in his masterpiece of construction. The older demon had obeyed without question-or perhaps he had suspected the reason for it. Either way, he had done as requested, and the Moose walked the Earth once again. Not whole, of course. That had been an oversight, corrected by none other than Death Himself, the only figure in all of creation who could have reached into the cage for Sam’s soul. But Crowley was always a believer that all was well that ended well. 

So now Moose had gotten himself collected by Magnus. There was little left to surprise Crowley, but this did. He had seen Dean kill the Men of Letters reject with his own eyes. He had felt the presence of magic, but the whole damn place was full of spell work, at the level that would have made his own mother envious. How was he to know that Magnus had faked his death? He had looked perfectly beheaded to Crowley.

“Well,” he murmured in his deep, velvet voice. “Isn’t this an intriguing development? Malphas, be a good friend, and fetch my dear old mother’s recipe book, will you? I believe I’ll have some cooking to do tonight.”

His associate nodded, and blinked from the room, to return a moment later holding a thick, ancient grimoire. “My King,” he said with a wicked smile.

“Malphas, darling. _You_ may call me Crowley.” He smiled at the old book, stroking its cover with love. “The rest of you, be gone. Any subordinates within a hundred kilometers of a Winchester or their pet bird are to withdrawal. Await orders. And Ukobach?”

The least of the demons in the room looked up with fear in his eyes. “Your Majesty?”

“Keep those fires stoked. I’ll be adding someone to the flames tonight.”

A small, trembling smile was his response. The malformed imp gave a nod, and disappeared from view.

Crowley grabbed hold of the collar of another demon about to wink away. “Berith, I expect the crossroads to be more prolific in the coming days. Can you see to that?” It was necessary to end every communication with this particular accountant with a question. Crowley had learned quickly that it was antithesis to the creature’s nature to tell truths when not asked a direct question. A good accountant, an able crossroads manager, but it was exhausting to communicate with the thing.

“I will, sir,” Berith swore. “Won’t bother sending up far more interns, won’t have the pleasure of beating in the least aggressive of them. And I have no intention of seeing to it that they roam once summoned by one, to collect a dozen. I serve a thousand masters before you.”

Crowley wrapped his mind around the response, then nodded. “Yes. Good. Go.”

Malphas watched as the remaining demons beat a hasty retreat. “Are you quite certain Berith is worth the effort it takes to not tear him fiber by fiber?”

“No. Not quite certain at all.” Crowley shook himself. “Now, dear Malphas. I have a task for you.” 

“Yes.” 

“Send up a friend-and choose carefully-to find that infuriating invisible clubhouse of Sinclair’s, and to report back on what goes on there.” 

Malphas bowed his head. “Mi familiar es tú familiar,” he snickered.  

Crowley smiled. “That’s a good lad.”

 


	6. The Gang's All Here

Dean had once beaten Castiel at a game of chess. It was the most intense game Sam had ever witnessed. Castiel had stared at the board after, apparently unable to process the defeat. Dean had stood from the chair he was straddling backward and drained the last of his beer.

The man had not gloated the way he might have after a poker game. He simply watched Castiel's shock for a moment, then pointed to the board with his bottle.

"Cas, you're trying to protect everyone. You can't win like that, man. My dad taught me to play. Can't say it was ever a game to him, but it was close as we ever got to one. I made the same mistakes you did. But he taught me the secret to chess is to be willing at all times to sacrifice every piece on the board to get the job done." With that, the man had headed into the kitchen to dig another beer from Bobby's ice box, and a while later, Sam could hear him flirting with Jo. Ellen had taken Castiel aside to try drinking him under the table. The whole evening was a blur, because they all knew what the next day held for them. Sam had wished for just a moment that his father were with them, but he knew Dean was more than capable of leading them, making the hard calls. Dean would sacrifice what he had to in order to get the job done.

Sam couldn't move. Or perhaps he could, but he didn't care to. He was unsure which was stronger, his apathy or his pain. Either way, he would not be moving for a very long time. Magnus had left him there, and he had not even had the will to collapse onto the floor. Gravity had made that choice for him once the last Starship had ensured he would never walk again.

It was liberating in a strange way. His mind worked, if slowly. His thoughts were scattered, and he wanted nothing. He knew he was dying again. Slowly this time. Not slowly like the cage. Not like that, like decades of rotting and crushing and flaying. Not like that. It would take days, not a century or more this time. But it would not be quick like the knife or the gun had been. It would be a slow withering like the trials.

For not the first time, Sam envied Prometheus. He had not been so cursed as to remember each death in excruciating detail. That and the guy was actually dead this time. Sam was alive, and he remembered everything. Aside from when the year spent as a soulless husk had been hidden by Death, his memory was painfully vivid.

Dean suffered from the same unique ability to remember every detail of events with clarity. When he paid attention, that is. The man could quote Braveheart with frightening accuracy but he knew better than to count on Dean to recall their most effective and basic exorcism, which had been their standard go-to Latin for years. Sam could quote it in his sleep. In fact, now that he thought of it, he probably did. He would have to ask Castiel one day.

Or not, since he would be dead within 72 hours, at most.

Sam gazed up at the ceiling of this private museum, and started to sigh, but realized it was too much trouble to breathe. How many times had Magnus cast that spell on him? Who the hell memorized a spell to make someone sluggish anyway?

It was far more than sluggish, and he knew it. He had been drained of his own will, of all intention beyond just being. He had noticed something interesting as Magnus was casting. It seemed Sam was not the only one being drained by the process. Magnus loved his own voice so much that he muttered to himself between castings. Sam had tried to concentrate. The other man had grumbled about "doing it right this time" and "not giving him time to recover as the Knight had done." He casted the odd spell several times, over the course of an hour (Two hours? Three?), and each time Sam had seen a deeper weariness take hold of Magnus. This level of spell work was apparently taxing. Eventually Magnus had been forced to retire for a few hours of sleep.

That should have been Sam's chance. He should have been working on a plan, getting himself out. But what was the point?

He knew what his father would have said, what he had heard a thousand times. _Never give in, Sam_ , he would say. _Don't let this thing beat you. No excuse for weakness. The job comes first. There's no time for pain._

_There's no time for pain._

How many times had his father said that? And what was it Dean had said, on countless hunts? _Just hold out, Sammy. We'll patch up later. Don't let them see it hurts. Just hold out a little longer._

He had repeated these words to himself so many times in his head. Sam had not been able to avoid reacting when that damn pagan god had ripped his nail right out of his right index finger so long ago. But once it was out, it was done, and Sam would not let the bastard see that it hurt. And they did patch up later, once he had impaled the wreath bitch with her own evergreen, and Dean had finished off her husband. Of course it hurt. But the job came first, and there was no time for pain, and no excuse for weakness.

His father's words had kept him alive in the best situations, and they had also gotten him killed in the worst. But this time? He just didn't feel like it.

He knew it was magic working on him. Just like with that nasty siren, he knew he couldn't be expected to resist it, not really. That did little to assuage his guilt about giving Magnus this win just because he was too apathetic-too pathetic-to fight back. _Never give in, except when it's too much trouble. Sorry, Dad. There won't be any patching this up, Dean. And I can't pretend it doesn't hurt._

 _Assess_ , the Dean in his head barked.

This time, he did sigh, though by the time the sound hit his ears, it was a groan. _I can't, Dean_ , he replied silently.

_Yes you can, little brother. You're better than this. Now assess._

_Dean..._

_Now!_

He lifted his head slightly before dropping it back to the floor. _Blood loss. Internal and external. Concussion probably. Both hamstrings and both Achilles' tendons slashed. Throat bruised. A few fingers broken. Rib broken. Damn shoulder not even freaking attached at the joint. And my nose itches. Happy?_

_That's what's broken. Now what isn't broken?_

Sam swallowed with difficulty. He could move his toes, for whatever that was worth. One eye was swelling shut but the other was all right. _My left hand. It's fine._

_Then what are you bitching about? Get moving._

_Dean, it hurts_.

But it was Castiel's deep gravel voice he heard now. _Hurry, Sam. Please. The magic is wearing off, but he will be back to renew it any moment. Please, Sam. Nothing is worth losing you._

Sam closed his eyes. When he tried to open them again, many minutes had passed by, and one eye chose not to obey. How important could depth perception possibly be anyway?

Sam sighed. His left hand grabbed at his left thigh. His gritted his teeth and yanked his useless leg with all the strength he could rally. The agony ripped a choking gasp from his throat, and for a moment, his vision burst white. He waited till his heart sank back down from his esophagus, and forced himself to move again. There was no way to stand, but after about ten excruciating minutes, he was able to set himself upright against a glass display case. It felt like a victory, even if it shouldn't have.

"Cas," he whispered aloud, barely a full breath escaping from his torn lips. "I can't." His chest burned with the effort it had taken just to sit up. Maybe more than one rib was broken. It didn't really matter. He could hear his brain saying it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, really. He could hear Dean barking orders one minute, and pleading with him the next, littering his words with curses and promises.

 _Dean, I've never been as strong as you wanted me to be. Never as strong as you always thought I was_.

He could even hear Jody, telling him she needed him to push through the pain and help himself. Easy for her to say. She was probably dead; he had probably gotten Jody Mills killed. He never wanted to have to tell Bobby that. Not that he would be seeing Bobby. The boy with the demon blood was likely bound for a hotter place than that. The only reason he had been to Heaven in the past was because it was within Zachariah's whimsy to screw with his head. _Sorry, Bobby. I'm so sorry, Jody_.

_Well, Moose. You've done it this time, haven't you?_

Sam wasn't sure when he had closed his good eye, but now it snapped open. Crowley? Really? As he lay rotting in his own blood and misery, one of the voices he heard in his head was Crowley?

_I'm hurt, darling. You've wounded me. We've bonded, you and I._

Sam closed his eye again. He had once spent weeks listening to Lucifer inside his head, till it nearly killed him. He refused to die thinking about Crowley. If the Limey bitch started singing Stairway, he was going to find a way to bleed out faster.

_I know you don't mean that, Moose._

_Sammy? Just...trust me okay?_

Sam frowned. His grip on reality was fairly weak, but this was a strange hallucination.

He could hear Jody's voice again. _Sam, we are coming to find you, okay? Castiel is working with a demon..._

Well, at least that part was to be expected.

 _I heard that_ , Castiel sighed dryly.

_Sammy, you aren't crazy. Jesus, Crowley, give me just another minute! Sammy, you're fading, buddy. Snap out of it. Crowley, is this the best you can do? I can't get closer to him?_

_I said you could communicate with him. I didn't say you'd be able to stroke him off._

_Focus, boys_.

 _Yes, ma'am_.

Sam sighed. Even in his delusions, Crowley was a jackass.

_Sammy? Sam, assess! Hey! Don't you pass out on me, little brother! We got work to do. Now assess!_

_I already assessed, jerk. One hand. It's all I got to work with_.

_That's never all you have to work with! Look around you!_

Sam rolled his head on his neck, feeling the ache everywhere. He had taken inventory of the room's resources hours ago. There was just one weapon nearby, and Sam would never reach it without a miracle.

 _I once jammed a guy's gun with a pen_.

 _You were holding a cursed rabbit's foot, asshat_.

_I'm saying, you can find a way to McGuyver this bitch. You're Sam Winchester, dude. One hand is more than enough to kick the ass of a freak like-_

"Magnus," Sam wheezed.

The smile was grating. "Hello again, Sam. Sleep well?"

"Go to hell."

"Yes, about that. Perhaps you'll give me a tour, as I hear you are intimately familiar with the place."

"Sorry. I hear Crowley made some architectural changes."

 _It's true. I did. Far more efficient now_.

"So you are feeling better. I'm taking notes, you know. Once a Man of Letters, always. It's interesting the way you are still able to resist after so many castings. Why, you're practically not human, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

_That's my boy. Don't give him anything._

"Oh, but you're not, are you, Sammy? You're at least a fraction demon, aren't you? And not just any demon. You've got the blood of one of the most powerful demons of all time."

 _Doubtful_ , Crowley responded. _Unless by powerful he means fanatical lunatic enamored of Lucifer_.

"Azazel, am I right? See? I did my homework, my friend. Azazel is...Well, if I were going to give my kid something special in his milk bottle, a bit of Azazel juice isn't a bad choice. See, the thing about demon blood, Sammy, is that once it's in you, it doesn't go away. No amount of Latin can burn that clean."

"Yeah," Sam murmured breathlessly. "I know."

_Sam, stop listening to this asshole. You hear me?_

_Shut up, Dean._

"Now some might think that makes you evil, Sammy. But that's not really a term I use for my zoo. I prefer to think of you as unique, as useful."

"Ain't helping you...with nothing." Sam found he could no longer keep his eyes open. Nor did he care to.

"Hunters. Always so eloquent. You will help me, and not only that, you'll do it of your own choice."

Sam tried to scoff at this, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he could feel Magnus gripping his face. He shrieked in surprise and protest as a tube was shoved into his mouth, and snaked down his throat. He bit hard, but a thick liquid passed through nonetheless. As the coppery taste, mixed with bile, hit his tongue when he gagged, a panicky dread filled him.

_Demon blood. Cas, help me._

Demon blood had a very particular taste, and he hated that he knew without a doubt exactly what it was being forced into his system. Worse, he hated himself for wanting it.

The voices in his head were silent at last.

"That's right, Sam. Don't fight what you're meant to be. I passed you over for your brother, but I didn't realize your worth. A few days of feeding you what you want, and you'll be perfectly happy to continue your regiment at my leisure."

Sam tried to choke it out, vomit it. With everything he had, he tried. _Dean_ , he pleaded silently, hearing his own choking sobs. _Dean, I'm so, so sorry. Cas, forgive me_.

Magnus yanked the tube from his throat mercilessly. "That'll do for now. No sense giving you too much before you understand where your next fix comes from. But I imagine if you eat nothing else for a few days..."

It was obvious Magnus was no longer talking to him, but about him. He had stopped listening anyway. The humiliation was total. There was no recovery from this, not physically, not psychologically, not ever. There would be no redemption for a boy filled with demon blood, especially when a hateful part of him yet wanted _more_.

The sobs echoed around him, and he realized Magnus had left him alone again. The noise in his brain was just static now. He heard voices again, but they were distant, muffled, and he knew nothing beyond the roaring in his veins.

It wasn't enough.

Magnus had a demon somewhere in his zoo. A demon he was harvesting for Sam's particular brand of torture. That meant somewhere nearby was _more_.

Part of him was still trying to vomit when a stinging, piercing tone burst through the static. He reached up to hold his left ear, but found it bleeding, and anyway the sound was coming from inside his head. It was impossible to lift his right arm to cover his other ear, but irrationally he found himself trying anyway. He was certain his skull was about to split open.

Suddenly, he felt a warmth fill him, distinct from the hot power coursing through him. This was different, an embrace, soft and comforting. He could feel his pain melting away, and he wanted to push himself deeper into this feeling of security, but he did not know how.

 _Death_ , he realized sadly. _It's finally, truly Death. Old friend, what took you so long?_

***

Castiel pulled Sam into his wings tighter. He could do little else for now, but he would use every last drop of Grace and strength if it meant Sam could feel peace. He sensed the man trying to sink into the cradle of his wings, and he gripped him tighter.

It was a trick he had learned from Anael centuries before. An angel had fallen in battle, and was beyond repair, but not yet gone. Before the specialists could arrive to end him, Anael had reached across the expanse between them to hold the dying comrade. Castiel had watched in awe as Anael unfurled her Grace across such a great distance to anesthetize their brother in his final moments. It stretched her impossibly, and Castiel worried she would be damaged irreparably herself, but he had admired her selfless act greatly. It lasted only a moment, and in the end, Castiel and Uriel had been forced to pull Anael back into herself. But for that dying angel, the last moment of existence was spent not in lonely agony but at peace in the soft wings of a sister who loved him.

Castiel could not find Sam. It was impossible for him to truly pinpoint his geographical location. But because of Crowley's blood magic, he could reach him, and he could hold him and numb his pain. And regardless of what it did to him, he would hold Sam until his last ounce of power had been snuffed out.

***

"What's the giraffe doing?" Crowley whispered.

Jody glowered at him.

"Fine. Blimey, you drown a woman in her own blood one time, and you can't ever speak to her again?"

Jody ignored him and watched Dean's face. The man was losing his mind. "Dean, we will find him. Castiel said-"

"Castiel is full of shit! This whole thing is worthless! I can't let that bastard-Demon blood! How did he even find out about-Jesus!" Dean was literally pulling at his hair. He was shaking head to foot with rage and frustration. He was baring his teeth murderously, as if he would bite anyone who came near. The sound of his boots stomping across the ground was covered by his periodic growls. "I can't sit here safe and listen to my brother die!" he screamed suddenly.

She reached for his arm as angry tears slipped down his face. Then she stopped cold. "Dean?!"

He whirled on her, chest heaving. But he followed her gaze to his own arm where the exposed Mark was throbbing visibly. He yanked his sleeve down, and stalked into the woods without a word.

She took a shuddered breath. "Crowley, where the hell is that friend of yours?"

The demon was watching after Dean, but he responded quietly. "Malphas has never failed me. He won't fail now."

"We'll lose them both," she said then, mostly to herself.

"No," Crowley corrected. "No, if he loses Sam, Dean will crawl to me and beg me for his black eyes back."

"Then why are you helping us?"

He was quiet for a moment, then he cleared his throat. "It would be hard to explain and impossible to understand. Let's just say I'm not done with them yet."

"Ominous," Jody murmured, and turned back to where Castiel was sitting cross legged inside a circle Crowley had drawn in the dirt, surrounded by...well, things she really didn't want to identify. Bloody masses and bones, mainly, sprinkled with burnt things and herbs. She was not sure what she had expected Angels to look like, but this wasn't it.

When Crowley had appeared out of nowhere, she and Castiel had both pulled their weapons on him. But Dean had talked them down, giving the demon a chance to speak. He had listened to the promise of communicating with Sam, cringed at Crowley's explanation that he and Sam each shared both demon and human blood, and that the blood Sam had once injected into him could now be called on to find Sam.

"Sam and I are brothers. Can't use my blood?"

"Won't do like mine will," Crowley had purred, and Jody got the feeling he enjoyed making Dean uncomfortable. "Sam and I have been intimate, remember."

Dean had glared, and Castiel suddenly looked sick.

"That's because he was trying to seal the gates of Hell, you asinine-"

"The fact remains, pet, that Moose and I share traces of his blood running through our veins. Funny about whorish human blood. It seems once it's in you, you're never quite pure again."

"What is this plan, Crowley? And talk quickly before I decide to rip your head from your shoulders with my bare hands."

The demon smirked. "You forget, Dean. You aren't powered by any jackass bone but your own any longer. That Mark is impotent without it and so are you. Do you want to find Gigantor or don't you?"

Pain etched into Dean's face and overwhelmed his anger. "Find Sam," he growled. "If you think you can find him, just do it."

"You won't like how."

"Just do it."

Jody had turned to Castiel then. "We trust this guy?"

The angel's blue glare was steady on Crowley, and for a moment, she thought she saw a wince. "We never trust this guy," he responded quietly. "But he has proved useful at times."

"Oh, Castiel. What's the matter? Didn't get the flowers I sent? That new Grace I ripped out of your sister's throat seems to have given your pale complexion a ruddy hue. How nice. I bet Moose likes it. Meg certainly would have. Really, Castiel, what is it with you and cavorting with demons?"

Castiel was on him in an instant, before Jody even saw him move, and he had backed the King of Hell into a tree, a long thin blade threatening just below his beard line. "Sam is no demon, you vile-"

Crowley employed an invisible force to shove Castiel back, his feet dragging trenches in the dirt. "Temper, darling. I'm apt to change my mind."

Dean was swallowing with difficulty. "Enough! Cas, back off. Crowley, get busy with your incense or whatever witchy crap you gotta pull. I assume you're using what your mama taught you?"

"Excellent deduction. Now kindly shut up and leash your halo so I can begin saving your brother's ass."

Now it was nearly an hour later, they were no closer to actually locating Sam, and it looked to Jody as if the angel were sweating. Could that be right? Did Angels sweat?

"Is he all right?" Jody called suddenly. She hurried forward as Castiel began swaying, and caught him by the shoulders just as he was falling to the side. "Hey. Harp boy. You okay?" Castiel's eyes fluttered open, and she nearly dropped him when she saw the rush of intense blue light flashing. "Shit! Dean!"

The man came crashing back from the woods and leapt to her side. "Cas?" he barked. "Cas, man, what are you doing? We lost contact with Sam. Something about the demon blood is blocking us. So what are you doing?"

The gravel voice seemed to come both from the pale lips and yet from a place far beyond them at the same time. "Holding him," Castiel answered.

Jody looked up into Dean's face to see fear splash across it. "Jesus," he swore. "Cas, you don't even know where-Cas? Cas! What is that even doing to you?"

The sheriff became gradually aware that the angel was becoming quite cold to the touch. Without meaning to, she placed her palm on his forehead. "Dean, is he supposed to have a body temperature? Like a human, I mean?"

"Cas! What is this doing to you?" Dean shouted. "Answer me, you son of a bitch!"

It was Crowley who spoke now. "If he's truly able to do that, it's killing him."

Dean whirled on the demon. "What are you talking about?"

"Your pet bird is stretching that lovely new mojo I got him up through my blood spell. Don't know what he thinks that will accomplish, other than to shred his grace, and peel this vessel of his, layer by layer. Maybe that's how the kids like it these days."

"It's killing him?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Unless you know something about blood magic and meat suits I don't. The thing that is Castiel, the thing holding him together, is being spread across an unknowable distance, and yet this vessel is trying to anchor him here. The moron is diffusing himself; there is no way to put him back in his bottle now. This vessel will be flayed open, and there will be nothing left. Angels don't work like demons. They can't exist like smoke. After this stunt, even a demon couldn't smoke back into a vessel. An angel who tried would be lost forever."

Dean let loose a roar of rage. "Cas! You son of a bitch! What are you thinking?"

"Holding him," the voice breathed again, and this time it sounded even more ethereal and distant.

Jody felt her throat hitch. "If Sam could see you now, angel," she sighed, fighting at a sob.

Green eyes full of panic turned back to Crowley. "Fix this," he hissed hoarsely. "I'll do anything. Fix it."

Crowley smiled tightly. "I'll need to make a call."

Jody's mouth dropped open as Dean pulled his knife out and slit a gash into his forearm all in one blindingly quick, fluid motion. "I think I miss monsters," she murmured to herself.

Crowley emptied a shallow bowl of herbs and cupped it to catch Dean's blood. "Don't we all, dear."

***


	7. In the Personal Museum of Cuthbert Sinclair

_Sam_.

It was not the voice of Death.

_Sam, can you hear me?_

"Cas?" Sam squeezed his eyes closed tightly. "Right. Because I'm crazy. Again."

_No, Sam. I'm here. Dean too. We are right here._

"Cas," he whimpered, not caring that the angel was only in his head. "I feel..."

_You can feel my Grace. Not mine, of course. But..._

"You're warmer than I thought you'd be."

Castiel's voice sounded a bit strained. _It's just energy, Sam._ Something like a sigh pressed against his cheek now. _I wish I had my own Grace to wrap you in._

Sam clung to the invisible force around him. "Cas, I should have let you kiss me."

_Yes, Sam. I wish you had._

Even if he ever saw Castiel again, he would never be able to touch him. He would not be able to look him in the eyes again, in those blue, pure angel eyes. Magnus was right. Demon blood could not be scrubbed out with a bit of Latin and soap.

He shouldn't have let Dean talk him down from the final trial. Yes, he would be dead. But Dean would never have been Marked, never have had to go up against Abbadon, and Crowley would have been locked away. His life could have been worth something. Closing the gates to Hell. What would his father have thought of that? His father, who had clawed his way up through the Devil's Gate to save them from Azazel one last time. His father, who had believed nothing was more important than destroying demons. At that moment, when he had sealed those gates forever, when he had breathed his last, he would have known that his father and Dean were proud of him, and that he was finally, finally purified, that as he died, he was at last pure enough to love an angel. He knew better than to expect the love to be returned, but that did not matter. He just wanted to deserve to love his angel, with the last beat of his heart. Dad and Dean proud. And no shame in loving Castiel. It would be an honorable way to die.

Yet here he was. Dying, certainly, but broken in ways that couldn't be fixed. And full of taint, of evil. "I just wanted to die clean," he wept.

The hallucination held him tighter. _Sam, please. I'm with you. Please don't give up._

"Castiel. Angel of Thursday. Guardian angel. Soldier and true friend of humans and Heaven. Castiel, you are the pure thing I never was."

_No, Sam. I was tainted by my choices. You were never given a choice as a child, yet you rose above that which would have tainted you._

"Cas, I want it. The blood."

_I know you do. And that isn't your fault either. Sam, do you feel pain right now?_

Sam's eyes opened, both of them this time. Even out of the swollen slit of his left eye, he could see the room through a strange film, as if the light were just slightly distorted. He let out a whimper. "Cas? Castiel, are you actually here? I'm not imagining or hallucinating? Are you with me?"

The voice was becoming a hollow sound. _I am always with you, Sam_.

"Why can't I see you?"

_Can you feel me?_

"Yes."

_Please let that be enough, for it is all I can do._

Sam's heart lurched. "Cas? Are you...Is this hurting you somehow?"

_Of course not._

"You're a bad liar, Cas."

_Sam, do you feel any pain right now?_

A sob formed in his throat. "No," he whispered. "All I feel is love."

_Sam, it has been the greatest honor of my long life to be the guardian to you and your brother. I regret many things I have done. But no matter what happens today, I want you to know with certainty that this, what I choose to do right now, is not one of them._

Sam blinked hard, and tears escaped his lashes to stream down his face. An impossibly soft caress brushed them away. He swallowed. "Cas, he doesn't mean to kill me. He's planning something. You said...Did you mean it when you said Dean was there?"

_He's here, Sam. He can't hear as well as I can, but I'll relay any message to him._

"He's got to find Jody. She was hurt, Cas. Bad."

_I've healed her, Sam. She will be fine._

"Thank you, Cas. And tell him I won't let Magnus have the win. I don't know what he's got planned for me, but I do know he hasn't forgotten he wants Dean too. I won't let that happen. Dean won't like how I do it. But he doesn't have to know that part. It's a muscle I haven't used in a while, but I still remember how to flex it. Just...watch over my idiot brother, will you, Cas?"

_Sam?_

"Don't let the Mark take him. He's a good man, and he deserves to die clean. Promise me."

Castiel had learned since the days of Lucifer to lie to a man as he goes into his final battle, and Sam was grateful for it. _I promise, Sam._

The man looked down at his left hand. He had once, many years ago, watched his own hands kill a hunter in cold blood. He had seen them tie up Jo to dangle in front of Dean. He had watched helplessly as they had broken Bobby's neck, snapped Castiel into oblivion and beaten his brother beyond recognition. After the collapse of Death's firewall, he remembered a hundred unforgivable acts by his hands, including the time they had gone still when his brother needed him to act to save him from a fang. He had watched these hands kill a Prophet, a friend who trusted him. Now there was no one controlling his hands, no lack of self to blame, nor presence of others. What the hands did now was his own choice, his own damnation.

"Cas, I know this is hurting you somehow. And I know you would have healed me already if you could have."

_I'm sorry, Sam._

"No, I'm all right. The pain is gone. I just need you to keep it away for just a little longer. Can you?"

The hollow voice seemed forced, but it was full of the same stubbornness and pride he had always heard when Castiel spoke. _I will keep your pain from you for as long as it takes._

Sam's heart broke with the determination in his angel's words. "Castiel?"

 _Yes, Sam_.

"I know I shouldn't. I get how wrong it is. But I love you. You know that, right?"

The warmth radiating from Castiel throbbed beautifully, intensified until it was all Sam knew for an instant, and he might have chosen to die in that moment, happier and more content than he had ever been...except that he still had work to do.

_Sam, everything I have ever been, the angel and the sinner, the weak and the mighty, the soldier and the human, all is nothing when compared with this. From the moment I was made to the first thought of disobedience, every second since, and now more than ever, it has always been you, and I am yours with my whole...heart._

Sam wished he could hold Castiel in return, to give him something, anything, to match what he was receiving. Instead, he grit his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, then began to move. If Castiel, his angel and his love, was in as much pain as he suspected he was, just to numb Sam’s own, he would not waste it. His left hand reached out, a new determination in his heart. He could not change what injuries had been done to him, and he could not keep Castiel from damaging himself further. But he would not let Castiel down, would not allow Magnus to use him for any purpose, and would certainly not let him get his paws on Dean. He had beaten Lucifer, caged Michael, outsmarted Gabriel and expelled Gadreel. He had fought every monster Eve had mothered, including alphas, and had destroyed the Horseman Famine from the inside out. He would not fall to a human without a fight.

“Cas, just hold me together a bit longer.”

 _Of course, Sam_.

Sam cringed. The words were strong, but the voice was fading, and he could hear what was left unsaid. _Please hurry_. His left hand latched onto a display case, and his strong arm pulled the rest of his bulk across the floor toward it. Agonizingly slowly, he was able to cross the room to the one object he knew he could make use of. Then he hid his good hand behind his back, and began to shout. "Magnus! Magnus, you son of a bitch! Just give me the damn demon, and I'll do whatever you want! You can't feed me like that and just leave me here, you freak!"

_Please be careful, Sam. I assume you have a plan?_

"Don't give me too much credit, man. I'm making this up as I go."

Even though no air moved, he knew Castiel was sighing.


	8. Blue Candles and Marigold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus finds a visitor on his doorstep just after he left a mangled hunter in his display room, but before going to feed said hunter a healthy dose of demon blood. Hm...
> 
> FYI, blue candles and marigold? Less romantic than it sounds.

He had to admit, when the demon had found his way to his door, he had nearly sent his hybrids after him, at least the ones Sam Winchester had not torn apart with his hands. Not that Magnus couldn't protect himself from a demon. He just couldn't resist the opportunity to see who would emerge victorious, a clearly powerful demon or four of Eve's special edition werewolves.

But when he had introduced himself as Malphas, the man had been intrigued.

"Malphas!" He had not been able to help clapping his hands together in delight. "Malphas? Prince Malphas?" Magnus grinned deliciously. "Did I leave some blue candles and marigold burning again?"

The demon narrowed his eyes. "You know my conjuring without reference?" 

"The demon of magic and war? Right hand to Lucifer? Yes, I read your stories at tea time. Helps me relax, you know."

A tiny snarling smile formed on the demon's lips. "You skipped over an important chapter if you aren't afraid as you should be."

"Afraid? No. Enamored and fascinated? Absolutely. I have so many questions. For example, my home is warded against demons, more so than ever after a pesky, diluted one recently made an appearance."

Malphas gave a twitch of his lips at that. "Diluted. You mean Crowley. Tainted with human blood."

"Didn't ask his name. Didn't care. The warding did not work perfectly before, since it was meant for full-blooded demons. I've corrected that since. So as I say, sir, I've warded my home against demons in general. Anything with even a trace of demon blood in him should feel their blood boiling just being in the vicinity. And I've warded against you specifically. Have I mistaken my sigils? It would be quite embarrassing to find out that all this time, I was warding against owls or something."

Finally, Malphas allowed a true smile onto his face. "No," he assured him. "You are indeed successfully warded from me."

Magnus lifted a finger as his eyes lit up. "Ah! You're not here at all! How stupid of me. Malphas, master of magical familiars! This is a projection, isn't it? Because not even I know how to protect a place against a creature that doesn't actually exist on the same plane. Fantastic!"

"My true form is far too dark to be seen by human eyes. Only a demon of considerable power can perceive me at all, unless I so choose."

Magnus nodded. "Forgive my rude hesitation about inviting you in. Did you say you were here to kill me?"

"I did not."

Magnus wondered. He was not foolish enough to ever summon this Prince of Hell. Doing so required a sacrifice, but in a lovely irony, offering a physical sacrifice to Malphas was a death wish, as it was taken as a sign that the conjurer was too stupid to be worth the Prince's time. Material possessions and petty gifts meant nothing to one such as he. So it would never be practical to summon up this demon, who would simply eat his soul then and there. But he had always been intrigued by the figure in the stories. The demon of magic. He should probably be trying to find a chance to kill him. He was once a Man of Letters, after all, the most impressive one who ever lived, as a matter of fact. He could certainly send the beast back to Hell, at the very least. But instead, he was imagining all the possibilities of an evening spent learning all the secrets from one whose very nature was dark magic personified. Besides, he still did not know why he was there at all. And wouldn't it be just delicious to be able to serve up a fine, eons-old vintage like Malphas had running through his blood to Sam Winchester? What would that level of ancient power do to the boy?

A pleasant smile spread as he held his hands out in welcome. "In that case, my friend, allow me to give you the tour."


	9. In the Woods at Red Cloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jody is juggling a dying angel, a Winchester who is fazing between being a bloodthirsty Knight of Hell and a terrified big brother, and the disgust of working with a demon witch who once left her bleeding out onto a ladies room floor.
> 
> Fun times in Red Cloud.

Dean watched Crowley's face twitch with irritation. He had spent enough time with the smarmy bastard to know exactly what that look meant. "What? Your buddy ain't returning your calls? So he's dead or what?"

"It would take far more than a human to accomplish that," Crowley snapped back. "This isn't just stunt demon number two, all right?"

"I remember having kicked the ass of the King of Hell himself on multiple occasions, Princess. Had him in the trunk of my car for like a week once. You want to tell me a human can take you out but not one of your minions?"

"Dean, do the rest of us a solid and don't use words you don't understand. Anything above a single syllable is far beyond your comfort zone, you primate."

Dean threw his hands up and stalked to where Castiel was slumped limply into Jody's arms. "I might have to gank the demon," he warned irritably.

"Not sure why you haven't yet. Give me something that'll pierce his highness's armor and I'll do it for you."

"How's he doing?” He jutted his chin at the angel.

The woman shrugged, shifting Castiel's weight so that his head was secure in her lap. "Hate to say Crowley is right about anything, but I think he's dying. Can Angels die?"

Dean ran a trembling hand across his scruff. "Yeah. And this one has a legendary history of it. Generally involves exploding.”

"What?"

He sighed, and didn't bother to answer. "Just keep me up to date. Let me know if anything changes."

She nodded once, and he watched her placing her hand to the angel's forehead. A deeply buried sense memory sparked the burning of tears in his eyes, and he turned quickly to escape the vision.

"Wait! Dean!" He looked back at Jody in fear. _Castiel dead_. The thought pounded through his brain in rhythm with his racing heart.

But Jody was waving him over. "Look! Your phone!"

Dean pounced on it, his heart in his throat. He could feel his Mark throbbing. He could feel it whispering in his veins.

The only thing better than killing the man who had initially pressed the First Blade into his hands was doing it _twice_ , this time slower. This time, he wanted to look into Magnus's eyes, watch the blood pour from his mouth, see the life strangle out of him. He wanted to grab his skull between his hands and snap it until it dislocated from his spine. He wanted to do to him everything he had done to Sam. Claw out his hamstrings with his fingernails and feel the stroke of his blade separating his tendons behind his ankles. He wanted to crush his ribs, break each finger one at a time, slam his head into the floor until it was an unrecognizable mess of hair and blood and bone. He wanted to-

"Dean!" His gaze shot to Jody. The green eyes were flashing with bloodlust, his breath haggard, and his face twisted into a nasty snarl. When Jody gasped, he felt his body shake, pulling himself back to the scene before him. Back to the alert on the phone.

Crowley was watching him, doing the thing with his eyebrow and his narrowed eyes that made Dean wish he had stabbed him in the brain like Sam had suggested. When Dean snarled at him audibly, Crowley put his hands up and shook his head. "Don't look at me like I haven't seen it all before. Like I don't know where your jollies come from, you deviant."

"Where's my Blade, Crowley?" he growled, not caring if Jody could hear.

"Oh, it's safe. How has your anger management been? Feeling queasy, are we, darling?"

"Bite me."

"You'll have to ask nicer than that.”

Suddenly, Jody was grabbing at Dean’s arm. He had not even realized he was moving toward the demon to strike, but the strong hand stopped him in his tracks. “Hey! That’s enough. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you two, but that angel over there is wasting away and Sam’s been torn apart by wolves. If you can’t focus on what’s important here, then give me the damn phone and I’ll find your brother myself!”

The shock of the words and the tone sent Dean’s blood running cold. _What is important here_. He sucked in his breath and drew out the phone again. How had he gotten distracted? A lead on Sam’s location, for the first time in hours, and he had gotten into a pissing contest with Crowley instead of looking into it? What the hell _was_ wrong with him? He looked through the phone for the GPS alert. “Jesus,” he swore softly. “Jody, Magnus just stepped onto our plane somewhere inside Harlan County Lake.”

“What do you mean inside the lake?”

“Look.” He tossed the phone to her. “That’s where your phone is.”

“Maybe he found the phone and threw it in.”

“Either way, it’s the only lead we got. Where’s your truck?”

Jody frowned severely. “Dean? What do we do with the harpist?”

He blinked at her, then stared at Castiel. “Shit. Crowley, what happens to Cas if I yank his vessel out of that circle, out of that pile of witchy crap?”

The demon shrugged. “Depends. How many pieces do you prefer he’s in?”

“It’ll kill him?” Jody cried.

“Of course it’ll kill him, you twits. It’s the only thing anchoring him at all. Do I really need to explain how this works?” Crowley sighed. “Apparently I do. If my blood spell is connected to Sam like a cable, your moronic feathered friend has pushed his essence up the wire. His vessel is still here, on the other end, but wherever the rest of him is, it’s the cable that’s keeping him even remotely attached to the meat suit he wore here. Break the circle, break the spell. Break the spell, and break your angel. Shall I draw you a picture?”

“Dammit, Castiel! You freaking child! I need you! Sam needs you! Every time we need you, you go and get yourself killed, you son of a bitch!” Dean moved toward the prone figure in the dark, boots crunching dried leaves, and before he could stop it, he could feel his foot swinging mercilessly toward him.

Before his boot could connect with Jimmy Novak’s kidney, Dean felt himself flying toward the ground, the wind whooshing from his chest with the impact. He landed hard on his side, rolled, and tried to lift himself to return the attack, but Jody had her knee at his throat, and was pressing all the weight she had to work with onto his chest. He let out a wheezing groan in surprise.  

When Jody spoke, it was with dangerous quiet. “Now you listen to me, Dean Winchester. I don’t care what’s going through your head right now. There’s obviously something very wrong with you, and we’ll deal with that later, but right now, you’re going to get your ass to Harlan Lake with the King of Match Dot Com here, and you’re going to find that kid brother of yours. I’m going to stay here and keep this boy alive. Do you think you can handle that, Tyler Durden?”

Dean took a deep breath, then another, and Jody reluctantly released him. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Sheriff. I just…It’s Sam, okay? If I pull Sam’s ass out of this, but I gotta tell him I lost Cas in the process…” The anger had dissipated, the Mark releasing its grip on his emotions, but now tears were stinging his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

A soft, strong hand touched his cheek, and he couldn’t help but lean into it. He had not been touched like that since…It had been too long ago to recall. Charley, perhaps. Jo's ghost? Lisa, probably. Hadn’t Lisa been the last one to look at him like she understood what he was but loved him anyway?

How would Lisa look at him now? Unable to control this thing eating its way out of him. Physically shaking in a way he hadn’t since the month after Sam had leapt into the pit. Thirsty all the time, and never hungry. Angry all the time, washing bloodlust down with whiskey. Thoughts always straying to the darkest places, the hunter part of his brain constantly assessing ways to kill off the greatest threat in the room, recognizing it as himself. The hunt was never over when it all took place inside one body. The demon was still in there. It had nearly taken a boot to Castiel, while the angel was sacrificing himself just to do what Dean couldn’t, to be there for Sam.

_Sam. God, Sammy._

How would Lisa look at him now? He knew exactly. She would look at him in just the way she had when he was growing fangs, when he had shoved Ben into a wall. She would look at him like he was a monster, and she would be right. He had been a monster then, and he was a monster again.

He picked himself up, and the shame stood with him, nestled into its usual place in the pit of his stomach. “I’m going to get Sam. Please, Sheriff. Keep Cas safe. If he…you know…wakes up…Just tell him Sam’s going to be fine. He’ll believe you. And if Crowley’s right that he’s dying…" He pushed the rest of his words out through his teeth. "It should be the last thing he hears.”

Jody’s breath turned white in the cool air, and her eyes sparkled a bit too much. He thought for a moment she might cry. Then she punched him in the shoulder. “I told you I’d keep him alive, kid. Go find your brother. He owes me dessert and a bottle of wine. I’m supposed to be on vacation, you know.” She tossed her keys at him, and pointed up the hill. “Go!”

At the order, Dean began to run. He assumed Crowley was following, but he did not look back. Harlan Lake was less than an hour west. What he would do once he got there, he had no idea. But he knew _where_. Everything else could be pieced together along the way.


	10. In Sam's Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a problem with Sam's plan.

Probably the most productive work week Sam had ever had did not actually involve use of his own weapons at all.

He had placed a call to Bobby on a Thursday, from the car outside the motel room where Dean was enjoying some company. Ordinarily, Sam might have headed to a bar or napped in the Impala, but it would be a very long time before he would be ready to let Dean out of his sight. So instead, he had stared in exhaustion at the curtained windows from the parkinglot, just in case the woman Dean had brought back to their room turned out to be a vampire or something. Bobby had answered on the first ring.

"Hey, kid."

"Hiya, Bobby."

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Sam took a jagged breath. "Bobby, I want to be able to tell you something and have you believe me but not ask me how I know. Can you do that?"

The other end was quiet for a moment. "Your psychic stuff again?"

Sam snorted. "No. No, Bobby."

"Okay, boy. You'd tell me if you were in trouble, right?"

"Sure, Bobby. I'm fine. Dean too. Least until his contract is up."

"All right then. I'll believe you and I won't ask how you know."

Tears filled his eyes, as he stared through gray rain on the windshield. "Thank you, Bobby." With that, he relayed the location of every vamp nest, every wendigo, every ghoul and ghost he had hunted down during his time as the Trickster's puppet.

"Jesus, kid!"

"You promised."

"All right, all right. I promised. You'll tell me one day, I guess. You boys find out what happened to that professor with his mystery spot problem?"

"Yeah," Sam choked. "Yeah, we're back on the road. You'll have some hunters check out those locations for me? The coven in Utah, tell them to bring as many guys as they can. It wasn't easy. And not to trust the deputy in Claremont."

Bobby cleared his throat. "Okay. I'll do that, son. You sure you're all right?"

"I'll be fine, Bobby. We got to get that Colt off Bella. If I had time, I'd take care of these hunts myself."

"What, all of them? Sam, not even you and your brother can take all of these cases just the two of you!"

Sam smiled without humor. "You'd be surprised, Bobby."

"All right. I'll get my people on them. Maybe send Mikey for that vengeful spirit in Tallahassee. He likes the weather."

"Good. Because it's centuries old, but it'll start killing folks by next month. And tell him to brush up on some old world Spanish too. It'll help. Trust me."

Bobby was quiet again. Finally, he sighed. "I do trust you, boy. But after the dream weaving you managed to do inside your brother's grapefruit recently, now you suddenly know where a dozen baddies are hanging out..."

"Maybe I'm wrong. I'd just like it checked out. Take care, Bobby."

"You too, son."

He had not been wrong. Bobby had contacted as many hunters as could be spared, and it had been a very bad week for the children of Eve and the creeping crawlers of the world. Something good had come from the lesson Gabriel had been trying to teach him, even if he had never-would never-stop trying to save Dean.

Magnus would not get his paws on his big brother. If Castiel could keep the pain away for just a little longer-

Magnus was not alone.

Sam had expected a few of the Starships. Maybe someone else from his zoo. But one glance told him this was not a servant to anyone, not enslaved by anything.

It was at this moment that he realized the blood he had consumed was not the everyday over-the-counter variety. He could see the true face of this figure. It was definitely a demon, but no ordinary one. His face was distorted in a horrible way, a blue-black darkness extending from him like waves of heat.

Sam's heart dropped. Not heat. Waves of power.

"And this is what Crowley calls a moose?" the demon purred in a velvety voice, with obvious interest. The hunter frowned severely. What was that accent? Nearly imperceptible, but it was there. Sometimes where a monster came from could be a clue as to how to kill it. But this was a demon, he reminded himself. Same as Crowley. Same as Meg. Same as Ruby and Azazel. This one might be bigger. But it would die just like the rest. "This is why you requested the blood of this form. I can smell it on him."

So that was who his lunch had been. Awesome.

"Sam, we have a guest. Please try to look alive."

Castiel was bristling around him.

"You're aware, of course, that he's being held together by an angel?"

Magnus frowned. "What?"

The demon pointed. "Could perhaps be something else, but it appears to be an angel. A dying angel, I suspect."

Sam's throat tightened with fear.

"Interesting choice in companion, considering his discriminating palate. Surprised the angel doesn't simply smite the thing and get it done. Instead, he seems to be protecting this filthy human even as doing so is clearly killing him."

Sam swallowed. "Who are you, you black-eyed bitch?" he croaked weakly.

"Now, Sam, be polite. Malphas is a guest in my home, and he has kindly offered you a meal. You were just begging for seconds, I thought."

Malphas? Castiel's energy fluttered, and Sam could sense his fear. That could not be a good sign.

"Sorry. It's been a while since I had to brush up on demonology. Ya'll just aren't as scary once a guy's been in a cage with Lucifer."

Malphas smiled wickedly. "You're the vessel of the Apocalypse."

"No, bitch. I'm the survivor of the Apocalypse."

An ethereal laugh filled the air, and Malphas flicked his wrist as though he were swatting something away.

With no warning, an explosion of pain crashed into him, and the piercing tone was back, except that instead of bringing warmth, it filled him with dread and despair. A shudder of desperation signaled Castiel's disappearance. The knowledge that the angel was gone made his chest seize painfully. He could only gasp.

Malphas continued as though nothing had interrupted their conversation. "Yes. You'll forgive me if I don't applaud. It was my boss, whom I served loyally for millennia, that you locked back up with his murderous brother."

"What...a shame," Sam forced out over the crippling agony. He glowered up at the demon with one good eye. "The hell did you do...to the angel?"

"Strangely, I can't even pretend to be sorry about the Morningstar. I was the one who reinforced his box, after all, in hopes that Crowley's favorite pets could somehow throw him back in. I'd heard there was a rogue angel in on that. Perhaps even the same one who joined Crowley in his search for Purgatory? It is hard to keep up with the human filth and the halos the King slums with."

Magnus looked from one to the other. "So you are unhappy with the current regime in Hell? What about the Knight Dean intended to kill with the First Blade? Did you support her?"

The demon continued to watch Sam writhe on the floor. "No. Lucifer would have destroyed the demon race, or enslaved it if he could have. Abbadon was a Knight of Cain. She had very little respect for the ancient lords of Hell. She had no business on the throne. Crowley? I had thought he might be the one. He's brought us back to our glory days, surely. As a King, he is to be admired. As a demon? He is tainted, flawed." Malphas gave the human a grimacing smile. "Diluted. By humans such as this stain here."

"Yes, well, this particular stain is now under my care."

Malphas bowed his head fractionally. "Yes. And you'd ask me to feed him?"

"Considering our conversation and your proposal, I would like to see if I can trust you, yes. So I'll just pop down for a moment, and take care of some quick business. And I'll leave you with my new trophy as a sign of trust."

Malphas smiled. "It isn't trust when you have spells weaved into the very walls, protecting you from every possible betrayal."

Magnus raised his eyebrows. "Unlike you, old boy, I like my things. I've worked my whole life to collect what is here, and I mean to keep it all safe. But that doesn't mean you couldn't kill the boy. I doubt even I could prevent that."

"So do I."

Magnus smirked at him. "Then a leap of trust it is." With that, he disappeared from the room, with an odd sound like an egg breaking.

"Sam Winchester," the demon cooed once they were alone.

"The angel?"

"You've got worse to worry about than that. Crowley is looking for you." So that wasn't an hallucination either. Crowley was working with Dean to contact him.

"Why?" he wheezed.

"He likes his pets. Planned to take Magnus screaming into hellfire. And all the while, Magnus is planning to use you to raid Hell."

His head was spinning. The demon blood was like a freight train racing through his system. It was like no blood he had ever used before. But the pain of his injuries was overwhelming. He could not stand, and he knew he would probably go into shock as soon as the demon blood died down.

"I have a better idea, Sam Winchester. You feed from me. Then I'll kill Magnus, and you'll kill Crowley. With my blood pumping through your bloodline, Crowley will have no chance."

The hunter stared at him.

"Okay. There is a catch. Dean has to go too. You or me, I don't care which. But the Winchester and the King story has to end."

"Bite me," Sam snarled through his teeth.

"Your plan wasn't too far from that, was it? You'll get Magnus to bring you the demon he's got on his leash, and you'll use it to kill Magnus? Then you'll kill the demon. Not a bad trick, and if I were any other demon, you might have done it. A man like you, you could take on a sorcerer and a demon with just your one working hand and one working kidney, as long as an angel was anesthetizing your wounds. You're the one who took down Lucifer."

The world was becoming hot white at the edges of his vision.

"Yes. Well, I'm not any other demon. I'm an ancient Prince of Hell, you stupid human. And you're only alive right now because you can get close to Crowley and snuff him out. My blood will be powerful enough to make you the once and future Boy King. Just kill Crowley and you can have as much as you want. I'll assign one of my familiars to be your personal juice box."

Sam searched his foggy mind for a working definition of a demon familiar. Different from a witch's companion. A familiar for a demon was more like an avatar. Malphas! Sam's memory dredged up information long stored away. Malphas, demon of magic, of fortress and of familiars. Sam's eyes closed briefly. Malphas. Second in command to the throne of Hell. That was what was boiling in his veins right now.

_Cas, forgive me. I don't think I'm going to win this one._


	11. It's a Long, Strange Trip

It was just a moment before her phone had shown up on the grid that Jody had felt the angel cringe. It was such a subtle movement that she had not been sure what to make of it. Then she had argued with Dean, had actually been forced to tackle him to prevent him from landing the kick that might have finished off his friend.

So it was not until after Dean had run for the truck, and Crowley had narrowed his eyes at her and blinked after him, that she realized the angel was seizing horribly.

“Oh, crap.” She dove for him, lifting his head again and tucking it into her arm’s cradle. She was trained to help during a human’s seizure. She had no idea if the same rules applied when an angel started twisting and jerking like that. “I’ve got you, Harp Boy. You’re going to be fine. Stay with me! Cas, right? It’s Cas. Just stay with me, Cas.”

The lids snapped open to reveal a fierce blue light that nearly blinded her, then seemed to flicker out until they were the same beautiful human-like eyes she had seen before, back at the hospital.

“Cas?” It was hard to keep the fear from her voice, but she had many years in law enforcement aiding her. She had talked a jumper safely down from a bridge, convinced a fugitive to put his gun down and release his teenage hostage unharmed, and she had the most notorious poker bluff in the department. She would not show this angel she was afraid.

“Sheriff.”

The seizing had stopped, and the angel lay dazed in her lap. He tried to lift himself, but it was a pitiful attempt, and he let his head fall back to her leg.  
 “Cas, just lie there, okay? King of Blind Dates says you’re supposed to be dead. So just relax a minute before you try to move.”

“Crowley. Where is he? I must speak to him.”

“He’s gone to Harlan Lake, an hour west. With Dean. They got a lead on my cell; it showed up on the GPS a minute ago.”

“We much reach them. Please, the phone in my overcoat.”

She fumbled in his pockets, and listened to him breathing with difficulty. “You going to be all right?”

“That is not of import. My friends are in far more trouble than they even know.”

“How could it be worse?” Jody shook her head. “Nevermind. With Sam and Dean, it can always get worse. Here.”

Castiel reached weakly for the phone and it seemed to take the last of his strength to place his call. While it was ringing, it slipped from his hands.

Jody picked it up, applied speaker phone, and gently held it near his ear. “You’re in bad shape, Harp Boy.”

He watched her with interest and gratitude clear in his blue eyes. “My name is Castiel. And while I have always enjoyed music, when I was created, it was to wield a blade, not a melody. Some days I think it would have been better if I had been part of the Choir. But then of course, your world would be on fire right now.”

She started to reply, though she was unsure what she might say to that, but it was at that moment that Dean finally picked up.

“Cas? Cas, is that you?” 

“Dean, I must speak to Crowley.”

“What the hell, Cas? I thought you were dead!”

Castiel sighed. “And I am not. Put Crowley on the phone.”

After a moment of cursing, and a verbal snap between the human and demon, Jody could hear Crowley speaking. “Hello, Castiel. Have I ever told you that you are infuriatingly difficult to kill? Which is good for us today, but I imagine it will cause me grief at some point in the future.”

“Stop talking, Crowley. That demon you had me working with. Who was it?”

“An old friend.”

Jody could see Castiel biting down his temper. “Define old, cretin.”

“Old. I’ve known him a century or two. Worked with him since I learned Moose intended to agree to Lucifer’s lap dance. Why?”

Castiel snarled, closing his eyes. He forced himself to sit up, and take the phone, even though it was obviously a struggle to do so. “Malphas, Crowley? Was your ally Malphas, you sooka, you bottom-feeding serpent?” The anger was fueling him now, and even though his voice was hoarse, he was shouting through it.

“Don’t go all biblical on me,” Crowley warned. “Yes, it’s Malphas. What difference does it make to you?”

“It makes every difference!” Castiel screamed. He was swaying dangerously now, and Jody reached out a hand to steady him. “The blood forced into Sam? It’s the blood of Malphas, you-“

“Magnus managed to kill Malphas?”

“Of course not! You know as well as I that beast cannot be killed by a mage whore! He is magic! They are cooperating!”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Is this your doing, Crowley? Did you send that creature in there to-“

“No.” Crowley’s voice was cold, quiet. The sound of it made even Castiel go silent in its wake. “No, Castiel, I assure you, that was not at all what I intended.”

Jody could hear Dean swearing in the background. “So what? Your demon’s gone rogue now? Dammit, Crowley, why can’t you keep track of any of your own damn people?”

“Perhaps you could tell me,” Crowley was snapping back. “Since it worked about as well on you as Malphas, evidently!”

“Boys!” Jody shouted. “Focus! What does this mean, Cas?”

The angel sighed, and leaned on her a bit more heavily. “I don’t know. All I know is that Sam is trapped in a room we can’t find with the oldest, most powerful demon I have ever personally encountered.”

After a pause, Dean spoke again. “Cas, how are you alive, man? Crowley said you transported your Grace using his blood magic or some stupid crap. He said it would kill you.”

“It may have,” the angel admitted quietly, “except that Malphas chose to snap me back into my vessel himself. An experience I never want repeated, by the way.”

“Why didn’t he just kill you?”

Castiel gave a humorless smile. “Sheriff, if ever I claim to understand why demons do anything they do, please take me back to the psychiatric hospital.”

“Awesome. Okay. Nothing’s changed, then, except that we have one more evil-ass thing ready to chow down on my brother. Awesome. Cas, you got anything else?”

Jody watched the blue eyes close again. “He’s hurt badly, Dean. I couldn’t…I couldn’t heal him…”

“I know, man.”

“He won’t be able to handle blood from Malphas. It’ll tear him apart. The demon warding is already affecting him in that place. Add blood of an ancient demon like Malphas…Dean, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Dean was taking a breath. “Okay. First step is still the same. Get to him. You steady on your wings yet, buddy?”

Pain flooded Castiel’s face, but he wiped it away with a shaking hand. “I will be. Alert me the moment you know where he is, and somehow I will be there for him.”

“Sheriff?”

“Yeah, Dean?” she called back.

“I need you to place a call for me. I’m having Crowley send you a contact to Cas’s phone. If what he’s saying is true, we’re far more outnumbered than we thought. When this guy answers-if you can get him to answer-tell him Dean and Sam are calling in that favor. Tell him where to meet us, and tell him to haul ass.”

“All right. Who is it?”

“His name’s Garth. Tell him to bring the family.”

***

Dean tossed his phone at Crowley. “This is just lovely. Awesome. Really, really, freaking awesome.”

“I’m the one who’s been violated here!”

“You talk again in the next forty minutes, and I’m going to do some violating of my own. Now shut up. I’m trying to think.”

***

Sam had never felt power like this before. Even when he had choked down gallons of blood in an attempt to harness Lucifer, not all the blood combined had been as potent as what was being poured into him now. It was no longer a matter of fighting it, nor even of wanting it. Sam was hungry. Disgusted, exhausted, agonized, but mostly hungry.

He had stopped fighting against the feed almost as soon as it began. It was like nothing he had ever imagined. When it was over, he leaned involuntarily toward the pitcher which had been forced upon him, and Malphas smiled at him, almost kindly.

“Enough.”

Sam could feel desperation giving way to strength. His legs were healing, his chest too. He felt a feral desire to run or to lunge, and fought it down. He had to be smart if he were going to survive this. “Now what?” he growled.

Malphas watched him. “You meant what you said, then? You told Magnus to give you the demon and you’d do anything. Is the pull that strong?”

Sam said nothing, just bared his red-stained teeth in a snarl.

“It won’t be easy to kill Crowley. I might have done it myself a thousand times if it were. He is powered by the souls of Hell, and he cannot be destroyed as simply as another upstart might be. Crowley is…unique.”

“If by unique, you mean an egotistical, self-serving toad, then yes. I suppose he is.” Sam could feel his pain subsiding, leaving euphoria behind. He wanted to use his power. It had been so long!

“Have some respect. He became King for a reason, after all.” Malphas looked over the man critically. “It is a difficult equation,” he murmured thoughtfully.

“What?”

“I must determine exactly what you’ll need to kill Crowley, and yet also how much you’ll need to kill me. Obviously we want to provide one but not the other.”

“Obviously.”

“You’ll wait here.”

With that, Sam found himself alone again. It was cold now, without Castiel. Shock was setting in, he assumed, though he knew his body was attempting to repair itself under the influence of this blood power. A chill covered him head to foot, and he wanted nothing more than to lie in Castiel’s arms, within his wings perhaps. “Cas?” he whispered, even though he knew better. “You…here?”

No answer came, but he hadn’t expected one. He lifted himself to stand as soon as he felt his legs could hold him. His legs were healing, his strength was pouring forth, but at the same time, he felt as though a hole had been torn through his chest.

“Cas,” he murmured. “Jesus, Castiel.”

The angel-his angel-was gone. No goodbye, no last opportunity to fight together, no second chance at a kiss. He was just gone. Ripped from him in the most horrible way. He had given the last of his Grace to protect him from pain, and when Malphas had torn him from his side, the physical and emotional torture was too much.

Too much.

Even while his heart was pumping ancient, glorious blood through his veins, it only served to fuel his grief and fury. The one who had torn Castiel from his side, who had ripped warmth from him forever, would pay for the pain he had caused Sam, and double for what he had caused his angel.

His ears were pounding with the rush of blood. He slowly became aware of a strange sensation. This was not just more powerful than blood he had consumed in the past. There was something about it that seemed…

As realization flooded him, Sam began to smile a carnal, profane smirk colored crimson. “Isn’t that a bitch,” he snarled lasciviously. “Cuthbert Sinclair, just wait till you see what I can do.”

***


	12. At Harlan Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hands and claws on deck. The battle of Harlan Lake is here.

Dean’s brain was in overdrive. _Just like any hunt_ , he kept hearing his father’s voice tell him, in the background. _Prepare just like any hunt. Get your head screwed on straight._ It was like a soundtrack to his drive with Crowley, during which he ran through every available option and strategy from every possible angle. He stared hard at the road, and ignored Crowley’s grumbling and the rain hitting his windshield.

Garth had called back immediately. It was both gratifying to know Garth had responded without hesitation to his call for help, and infuriating since he had been trying to get ahold of the man-werewolf…whatever-for days now just to check on him, with no response. Garth had shrugged off that comment.

“We’ve been busy, dog.”

His lips twitched into a sneer. “Let’s not forget who the canine is here, Garth.”

“You prefer idgit?”

“I do not.”

“All right then. We’re less than an hour out. No funeral director suits anymore, huh?”

He shook his head. “No, man. We’re going in with teeth blazing.”

“We’ll be there. Me and Jim and a few buddies.”

“Thanks, Garth. I mean it.”

“Anything for you and Sam, dog.”

Now they were on the ground, and he could see a truck pulling up. Having taken on the characteristics of a dog himself once, he spared a moment to smile at the way the three young men in the back of the truck seemed to be enjoying the wind, while Garth, with Jim as his passenger, pulled into the campground beside Jody’s vehicle.

He and Garth embraced quickly, for which Dean earned a smile of adoration, and he exchanged an awkward nod with Jim. “Glad you’re here, fellas.” He could see Garth sniffing at the air, and squinting into the darkness behind Dean suspiciously. He took a breath before explaining. “Yeah. I’m not alone.”

“That’s a demon, son,” Jim murmured.

“I’m aware, Reverend. For now, we’re fighting a common enemy. Not suggesting we make a habit of it, but…”

“But you’ve made a habit of it,” Garth finished for him quietly.

Dean grit his teeth. “Back out now if you want. I’d understand.” He looked at Garth hard. “If you need to.”

Garth stared at Crowley’s silent silhouette for another moment. Then he smiled. “We’re here for you and Sam. You’re calling the shots. Just tell us what we’re here to do.”

Finally, Dean let out a breath he did not realize he was holding. He was grateful for both Garth’s familiar, faithful nature, and the full moon coming out from behind the clouds to fuel his more recently acquired animal nature. “Listen, Reverend, Garth. I know you ain’t a fighting people. I know it, and I appreciate it. But you also know, better than anybody, that some were-“ He stopped himself, and started again. “Some lycanthropes don’t have your sense of humanity.” He rolled his eyes. “Dammit, you know what I mean.”

Even Jim nodded, touching the chain which he knew was attached to a silver bullet under his collar. “We know you’re trying, son.”

“We’re up against some pretty nasty crap, including a pack of some hybrid lycanthropes. Werewolf kind. About six of them.”

Garth touched Dean’s arm, and to his surprise, it actually helped steady his nerves. It nearly reminded him of Bobby. Nearly. “Dean, just call the play. We’re with you. Everything you’ve done for me? For my pack? I couldn’t risk Bessie getting hurt, but these other guys volunteered. We’re with you. Just call the play.”

Dean’s eyes softened for a moment. It was exactly what he had needed to hear. He had not led a hunt of more than just him and Sam in a very long time. It was good to know the others still had faith in his leadership. He cleared his throat, and he nodded, standing straighter. “Crowley thinks he’s found the pack, and they’re right where I know my target is. I’ve got the bitch on GPS, and we’ve got to move fast before I lose him again. But I can’t kill him, not yet. He’s got to get us to Sam. We won’t find him on our own. Castiel? I’m praying for your feathered ass. It’s time.”

A flutter of wings harkened the angel’s approach, Jody in tow. Dean watched in alarm at the way Castiel stumbled, but took solace in the determined blue light in his gaze. All eyes were on him. When he opened his mouth again, it was to give orders, and he was gratified to see how focused his allies were. A Knight of Hell, a fallen angel, a demon King, five devout werewolves, and a tough human sheriff, all there to rescue his blood-junkie kid brother. Strange bedfellows, but loyal friends. The part of Dean who had very recently felt friendless and worthless was touched.

“Garth, your boys and me, we got to take down these hybrids guarding Magnus. Jody, once Cas and Crowley can get their hands on Magnus, you got to keep your gun steady on him. He breathes crooked, you shoot. Hear me?”

“Got it.”

“I want him alive, but I don’t want you dead. We lose nobody tonight. Nobody.” He looked at Crowley then. “Crowley, your first priority is to find Magnus’s clubhouse. You picked up what you need?”

“I’ve got everything. He’s warded it far better than before, the little prat.” He winked at Jody, who smirked at him in quiet loathing. “But the lady and I can handle that. Just keep him from casting, love, and I’ll do the rest.”

“Cas, help Crowley where you can, but save your energy. You got to get us both into that museum, and heal Sam as soon as that window opens.”

Castiel nodded. His blade dropped into his hand. He exchanged a look with Dean that made it clear there was nothing that would stop him from getting to Sam.

“Garth, Reverend, after we’ve taken out some hybrid mutts, you and your boys need to protect Jody. You don’t leave her side for anything.”

Garth nodded, but he was frowning. “You don’t think you need us in this…museum thing?”

Dean took a breath. “Buddy, I don’t know what’s up there. But me and Cas, we’ll deal with it. I can’t ask you and your pack to take any more risk than I’m already asking for. Please. Keep Jody safe. That’ll be hard enough, considering who she’s guarding.”

“And who is that, I wonder?”

The silvery voice came from behind him, and they all whirled to locate it. Dean could feel the ground tremble as sudden growls came from wolves on all sides. He realized later that it was not the ground shaking, but the rumble that was coming from inside his own chest that he was feeling. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Garth’s pack snarling and twisting, teeth being bared and faces distorting. Crowley disappeared into the night, and Jody took a knee, her rifle trained on the figures before her. Castiel’s hand gripped the angel blade, and his eyes glowered steadily, the moonlight making his overcoat seem like some ethereal thing. Dean wanted his First Blade so badly he could spit, but his pearl grip Taurus Model 92 was secure in his thigh holster, with devil traps etched into the ammunition, and his favorite machete was in one hand, his .45 in the other. It was as good as it was going to get.

“Magnus,” he snarled. “Where’s my brother?” He could feel his Mark throbbing mercilessly.

Magnus stood inside a semi-circle of four hybrid wolves. Dean felt a pang of pride at the fact that two were missing from Jody’s count. Sam must have taken them out on his own.

The man before him whispered a few words and sifted what looked like burned leaves through his hands, and suddenly Dean blinked to find three Cuthbert Sinclairs where there had only been one, and at least a dozen wolves. “Illusion!” Crowley barked out in warning from somewhere distant. His next words were in an ancient language Dean did not know, so he ignored it.

“Where’s my brother, you dick?” he shouted again over the growling wolves both behind him and in front of him.

“He’s dead, Dean. What did you expect?” one of the men responded with a smile.

 Another Magnus laughed. “Did you think I was just going to keep him on display forever?”

“I’d rather dissect him and see what makes him tick,” the third hissed.

“You, though,” the second purred, “you, I would have kept. I’ll settle for taking a few of your friends for my zoo. You do keep some odd company, Dean Winchester.”

“If only your grandfather could see you now, Dean. Dinner time, boys. Sic!”

Both wolf packs dove into action, as did Dean. He could hear Jody get off a shot to one of the hybrid’s heads before the clashing of the two sides. It would not kill the thing, but it went a long way toward slowing it down. The three younger men Garth had brought with him tackled the huge wounded animal together, and the four creatures were suddenly a blur of aggression, fur and teeth, spit and blood.

Garth held back for an instant to shout to Dean. “We can smell what’s real! Just follow our lead!” With that, he and Jim leapt onto a hybrid flying at Dean, and tore him to the ground.

Dean quickly discovered who was a real threat and who was a magical construct. His knife pierced the air several times, before he learned to listen for the breathing instead of the snarling. He could only hope Castiel would be able to tell the difference when going after the three Magnuses. He felt his knife hit bone and his Mark thrilled with it. He was shrieking like an animal himself, and it felt so good to be in battle again that he did not care. Jody’s gun temporarily interrupted one beast’s attack, and he was able to concentrate all his strength and fury on the other. He plunged his weapon into the hybrid’s throat, felt the rush of it, slicing through the thing’s windpipe. He leapt onto its back and brought the knife down hard to stick into its skull. At the same time, he fired a shot at the other coming toward him, hitting directly between the wolf’s eyes. Not a lethal shot for a werewolf, maybe, but it was not getting up quite so quickly this time. He jumped at it, and sunk the machete into its neck, slicing the head off in one clean motion.

Dean roared in victory, and whirled to find Garth and Jim finishing off one of the other four, then joining their friends by piling onto the first beast. In moments, there was nothing left of that hybrid but blood and fur and broken bones. But Dean’s Mark was still burning, still demanding to be fed. He swung toward a Magnus nearby, and screamed incoherently as his machete sliced through the air where the illusion’s head had been. He looked around desperately for another.

“Dean, no!”

It was Jody’s voice. He could hear it as if through water, through the pounding of his heart, past the howling of his friends and the hissing of the Mark. He pulled himself back, blinking hard, shaking from head to foot. He could feel the Mark blaming him, accusing him, tearing into him without mercy, demanding that he shed more blood. He looked at Jody with feral hunger in his eyes.

“Dean,” she cried again. “Stop! We need him alive! You said so!”

Dean gasped in his breath, struggling to clear his mind of the bloodlust. He looked back at the wolf pack to find four of the men tending to the fifth’s wounds. He assessed their expressions as worry, not grief, and he turned to face Jody again. Her eyes and voice were grounding him somehow, helping him overcome the desire, the need to kill. Something about the way she stared him down with concern but without fear made him feel human again.

“Yes,” he wheezed. “Yes. Good.” His eyes searched wildly until he at last found Castiel dismissing one Magnus and binding the other in his strong arms. “Crowley!” he roared.

The demon appeared behind Magnus and the angel, and he was still muttering in that long-dead language. Magnus glowered fiercely, but whatever Crowley was doing was beyond his control to stop once Castiel’s palm fell heavy onto his skull. He dropped unconscious to the ground, and Castiel dropped with him in exhaustion. Crowley continued his work, gesturing to Jody to approach, which she did, gun trained on their enemy with perfect discipline.

Dean looked around him. Had it worked? He blinked hard, shaking his head again. His shoulders were still heaving, but he was calmer now. The plan had come together. Jody’s GPS trick, Crowley’s ability to track the hybrids, Dean and Garth’s pack outsmarting the illusions and overpowering the beasts, Castiel capturing Magnus himself, Jody’s watchful eye locked onto the prisoner, and Crowley’s magic focused on the location of Magnus’s stronghold. It had all come together, under Dean’s leadership.

He shook himself one last time. There was no victory until Sam was safe. He turned to Crowley. “Well?” he barked.

“Nearly there,” the demon promised. “Now that he’s not using his magic to keep me out of it, I can find where the bloody bugger’s been hiding.”

Dean nodded. He didn’t know what Crowley was doing, and he didn’t care. He turned to the pack now. “Garth? You guys good?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then a nod. “Yeah, we’re okay. Trevor’s gonna need some stitching. You got anything?”

Jody’s eyes never left the still figure on the ground, but she called to him. “In my truck. There’s a kit behind the seat. Use whatever you need.”

Garth nodded. “Thank you.”

Dean approached him with an extended hand, which Garth took. The larger man pulled him into a hug, and smacked his back fondly. “Man, you and your pack…You stepped up, buddy. Thank you. Kind of feels nice not to be outnumbered for once.”

His friend laughed. “Glad we were in the area.”

“Yeah, me too. Still sure Nebraska is where you want to be?”

Jim smiled at them sadly. “It’s our home now. We’re proud to protect it, but we hope you won’t have to call for backup very often.”

Dean shook his hand, noted the blood on the man’s mouth and neck. “Yes, sir. One time thing. I promise.”

He nodded. “Then we’re happy to help you find your brother. Seth, take Trevor to that truck and Garth can show you how to treat a wound like that. Soon as it’s done, get back to guarding that woman. Dave, come on. I’ll look at your paw while we’re keeping an eye on this guy.”

“Jody, that bitch moves like he’s coming at you, or worse, like he’s trying to cast, you shoot and then let these guys tear his throat out.”

“Ten four, kid. You all right?”

“I’ll be all right once I get to my brother.”

“You’re bleeding.” Castiel had lifted himself with difficulty and was approaching him. The unsteady gait reminded Dean uncomfortably of the time he had been forced to watch Jimmy Novak’s body stumble into a body of water under the weight of Leviathans.

Dean looked down at himself. He had not even noticed, but Castiel was right. “It’s no big deal.”

“Dean, you said it yourself. We don’t know what we’re about to encounter. We will not be helped by your stubborn insistence that I not heal you.”

“Did you heal you?”

Castiel frowned. “I’m not sure there is much point in that,” he admitted. “You, on the other hand…” He grabbed Dean’s hand before the man could protest, and let his Grace do its work.

“Dammit, Cas.”

“Thank me.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. The words had been nearly inaudible, but he could not pretend not to have heard. “Excuse me?”

“Thank me. Don’t scold me for doing my job, Dean. For doing what needs to be done, for helping you. Don’t curse me for spending my Grace to take away your suffering and piecing you back together. If we are truly best friends as you said, you’ll know I am unwilling to leave you injured, especially at a time when you must be at your strongest. Don’t curse me. You should thank me for caring.” Castiel’s eyes watched his without blinking, stared in quiet accusation as he spoke these words, almost without use of his voice.

It pulled at Dean’s heart to hear it. He smiled softly at the angel. “Yeah. You’re right. Thank you, Cas. Let’s…let’s see what Crowley’s got for us, okay?”

The angel nodded wearily, and gripped Dean’s arm for support as they walked. He said no more.

Crowley was grinning to himself. “Oh, boys!” he called out. “Can I get a hail to the King?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No.”

The demon shrugged. “I’ve got your ticket to the museum, Dean. Give me some credit.”

Dean looked at Castiel, a wicked smirk forming on his face. “All right. We’ve got work to do.”

***


	13. In the Mind of a Mad Demon Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finally learns the master plan. So to speak.

"You see, Sam, an artist I once knew did a bit of investigating for me a few years back. A friend of your brother's as a matter of fact."

Sam frowned. Malphas was suddenly sitting perched on a table. His voice had preceded him, and the phrase _Cheshire cat_ came to mind.

"His friends called him Alistair, you know. Perhaps Dean has spoken of him? You may have even met once. But that was years ago. I hardly expect you to remember. Anyway, he did some investigating for me, cracked open an angel's discarded vessel to crawl around inside for me. Alistair, there was a demon who didn't mind getting his hands dirty. I'm told he was quite the little psychopath as a human."

Hazel eyes flicked around the room. He could not quite look at Malphas, he realized. Too bright, his mind told him. But that wasn't it at all. He was far too dark. The blood coursing through him was enabling him to see past the familiar into the thing that was Malphas. Far too dark to see, like a black hole sitting right in Magnus's tea room.

"In any case, he researched for me. Found some interesting information on the younger Winchester boy. Never knew quite how I would use that nugget till now."

"Yeah? So that sadistic bastard broke some poor vessel, and you think you know me? Found out about my blood?"

The lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. "Better than that. Blood is one thing. But Azazel didn't just feed you blood. He fed you his own blood, but he also fed you desperation. It's not the machine so much as the fuel, Sam."

"The hell are you even-"

"And even after he was gone, you used that strength and desperation to destroy."

Sam's nostrils flared, and he held himself from attacking with great difficulty. "I used it to save people, you black-eyed creep."

Malphas nodded. "And to destroy. For example, my source informed me that the Angels say you are the one who pulled Samhain back home, and left him a quivering mess. This interested me. A human who could overpower Samhain? Not just exorcise him, but dissolve his power, leave him helpless. Do you know what the other demon lords did to him when he arrived back in that crippled state?"

Sam smiled in a red, feral way. "I'll send him a card."

The figure before him laughed. "No need. He was one of mine. When he crawled to me, I scattered him into a billion pieces amongst the flames. It will be a millennium before he is able to pull himself back together, and I doubt he even has the will to do so. Smote by a human. By a boy."

"That was a long time ago. What does it matter now?"

Malphas stood and approached the man, staring thoughtfully at him. "Thirsty, Sam?"

He was silent, and refused to return the gaze.

"Hm. Samhain was powerful. Sam Winchester far more so."

He was beginning to feel sick. "Are we done?"

"Not remotely. You're going to kill Crowley."

"My pleasure. But you first." It spun out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Malphas's laugh filled the room again. "No, I don't think so. I'm a fair judge of how much power someone has swimming in them, Sam, and you won't be able to stare me down."

"Then yes. I'm thirsty."

The laugh boomed out of him then. "I like you, Sam. I see what Azazel saw, and what Lucifer saw, what Crowley sees now. But your potential has been seriously wasted since the days of Samhain and Lilith, my friend."

Sam licked his lips, tasting the driblets of his last feed. "Where is Magnus? He was part of the deal, right? You kill him, I kill Crowley, and then you and I dance? That it?"

His power would only work on demons in the past. But this blood was something special. He could feel it opening his mind like air to an oxygen-starved brain. He could see things like never before. He could smell the spell work all around him, could sense magic in use where he could only guess at it before.

There was a pang of grief as it occurred to him he might now have been able to perceive his angel, were he still with him. Not just feel his warmth and hear his voice in his head. With this blood, surely he could have seen him. His wings. Sam wanted with all his heart to see Castiel's wings, to put his face into them and breathe them in.

And this demon had torn his heart, his angel, from him, with no mercy. It ached even more than when Magnus had ripped the feed tube from deep in his throat. A part of him, the best part of him, was gone, and he would never recover from this loss.

They had lost so much, he and Dean. Dread over whispering apologies toward Heaven, to Bobby, about getting Jody killed were now replaced by the horror of telling Dean he had gotten Castiel killed. It would break Dean too. They had lost too much.

Sam did not want to live long enough for that scene, and it was just as well, since what he had planned was likely suicide. Every nerve, singing with power, with cloying magic, urged him to attack now, to have his vengeance on this demon who had taken Castiel. But the Hunter in him stayed his hand. He knew better. Wait until it's time. If you die now, Magnus may find Dean. This demon might find Dean. Patience. Malphas was right-Sam had changed a great deal since the days of Lilith. He knew better than to follow vengeance in lieu of wisdom.

Malphas was shrugging at him. "I'll keep my end once you have done your part."

"No. You know why? Because you're Malphas, you freak. You deceive your partners, your conjurers. It's what you do. I remember Demonology 101 back at Hunter school, you bitch. Malphas, master of familiars and magic, architect of fortresses, and two-faced dick."

The smirk he received had a twinge of loathing in it. "You have summed me up, you think?"

"Lemme ask this. Why are you alive? Didn't Lucifer need you on his quest? I'm guessing you bowed out of that one. Betrayed your fearless leader. And now you're betraying Crowley, your new King. Lore says you freaking eat anyone who comes to you for help. You've never had a master or partner you haven't betrayed. So why should I do anything before you've taken out Magnus?"

"Enough! You will do as I command, you insect!"

Sam felt his moment coming, felt Malphas losing control. His good hand tightened over the object, the weapon he had clutched all this time, the Latin flowing through his mind but not needing him to vocalize.

"What's the matter, Malphas? Some pitiful human hit a nerve? You're too afraid to face Crowley, just like you were too afraid to face Lucifer. Your magic is worth nothing without the spine to use it. So you manipulate me, because you know I can get the job done. I caged Lucifer, now you want me to gank Crowley for you too."

The response was quiet, full of venom. "I cannot kill my master," he slurred through fury. "You know everything else about me, perhaps you know that too? I cannot kill the diluted abomination which has come to rule me any more than I could kill the wretched Morningstar tyrant who reigned from inside a box for all of creation. If I kill my master..."

Sam grinned nastily. "You kill your master and your power dies with him. But if I do it, you get freedom and your magic."

"I was long ago cursed to follow a single master. It cannot be undone; freedom I may never have. But I would at least follow one worthy of my service. Not an angel. Not a demon who pollutes himself with human blood. But all demons were once humans."

Sam's shock nearly caused him to drop the object he clung to. "Wait, what? What are you..."

"There will be no going back. Unlike Crowley, unlike your sick brother, once you turn, you will never go back. The boy who could tear down Samhain with only the aid of some bitch demon's blood, imagine your power when you are flooded with the blood of a demon Prince, when there is more of my blood in your veins than your own. There will be no going back. No creature, not even the Knight of Hell you call brother would be able to stop you. You will consume Crowley. And I will have you as my master. And since I have made you of myself, when I have convinced a sorcerer like Magnus to imbue you with his spells, under my tutelage, you will be the master of my choosing. Boy King, chosen by the greatest living demon, and fueled by the strongest of my human mages, fed on the blood of Lucifer's successor, the usurper. It will be glorious."

Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and knew every beat sent the blood surging through him, every palpitation bringing him closer to this prophecy. He found his breath catching in his throat. _Dear Cas_ , he prayed wildly. _Dear Cas, I'm so, so sorry..._


	14. In the Darkness

“Heal and steal, Cas,” Dean whispered. “That is your only job. You get in, you grab Sammy, and you fly out. No matter what you see, no matter what I’m dealing with. He’s bad off, Cas. Just heal and steal.”

Castiel might have argued under different circumstances. But he was aware of his own limitations. He would follow that order, would mend Sam and pull him back to where Jody and the others were waiting. But then he had every intention of forcing Crowley to return him to Magnus’s residence, to assist Dean with what little strength he still had. Sam was priority one, and he knew that. He would risk nothing while Sam was still in danger. But once he was safe? Well, he was not about to abandon Dean with no exit plan to be consumed by that associate of Crowley’s. The knowledge that the transportation to Magnus’s residence was taking place thanks to a demon’s witchcraft, Crowley’s no less, made him…distinctly unhappy. Crowley had ended Meg.

He realized that he was more angry with Crowley for killing Meg than he was for killing his sister, from whom he had carved the Grace Castiel now used. It was a strange thing for an angel to have friends in such low places, and now, at what was surely the end of his long life, it did not escape his notice that he may in fact be judged by his associations by his Father, assuming his Father had any interest in doing so.

 “Jody?”

“Yeah, Winchester.”

“Kill him in twenty minutes. No matter what. You put a bullet in his brain, then have Garth rip his head off for good measure, and bury him in concrete. I don’t want there to be even a remote chance of him coming back this time. No matter what else, you kill this son of a bitch if I ain’t back to do it myself.” Castiel could see the lust in Dean’s eyes clearly, and it made him frown. “Although, I promise you, I will be back to do it myself. No question.”

“Dean?” Castiel said softly.

His friend jerked as if startled, then blinked hard. “Right. You got that, Sheriff?”

Jody nodded. “Got it. Have fun, boys. Bring me back my dinner date.”

Castiel sighed. Perhaps no one understood the dire situation they were in. Much like Bobby’s definition of good news, he was concerned about Jody’s definition of fun.

Dean turned to Crowley. “Get your witch on, bitch,” he commanded, gripping his weapons.

Crowley looked for a moment as though he were going to respond, but then he raised an eyebrow and began his incantation. Castiel glowered at him, but his focus was on his own vessel. It was a strange sensation, being sent somewhere by magic rather than flying or walking, and he got the impression his vessel did not like it at all. His mind’s tangent was interrupted by their arrival in the residence, and by a flash of impossible blackness. It was impossible to tell how Dean’s eyes perceived it, but his own were nearly blinded by the presence of Malphas. It took him far too long to steady himself. Clearly, this rescue mission was going to be a great deal more difficult without the ability to see. Involuntarily, and exactly like a panicked human, Castiel’s arm flew up to shield his eyes as if from the sun itself, and he could hear a strangled cry of surprise and pain erupt from his own throat.

“Cas!” Dean shrieked, and the angel turned toward his friend’s voice. He could almost see Dean’s blurred figure moving toward him, but before he could react, he felt the sickening crack of his vessel’s left femur. He collapsed onto the floor, shattering a display case behind him, and smacking the back of his head on a sharp corner. It was quickly clear that the wound was not going to heal on its own, as it should.

“Down, angel,” said a voice so full of evil venom that even Castiel had to fight a shudder. “I’ll get to you. Stand again, and I will break not one but every bone in this vessel, all at once. I’d be curious to find out what that does to you. Don’t bother healing. I’ll simply break it again. Unlike you, I can do this all day. My familiar is not so fragile as your vessel.”

“Where’s my brother, you son of a bitch?” Dean was screaming. “What have you done to him?”

Castiel desperately wanted to be able to see what was going on, to possibly see Sam and get to him, but this demon’s darkness was everywhere he looked. He wondered if Dean could see, prayed that he could.

“Malphas, you freak, get the hell away from them!”

The angel’s heart soared over the pain. Sam! Sam was alive! And from the sound of him, he was stronger than before. Castiel closed his eyes and focused on uncurling his Grace to seek out his friend.

He could hear the all-too-familiar thud and grunt of Dean’s body being thrown against a wall. “You’re the Knight,” Malphas was saying. “You know what we’ll do, Sam? We’ll turn him. And we’ll use his blood as well.”

“No! Malphas, let him go!” It sounded to Castiel as though Sam were struggling against something which bound him, and his Grace rushed to find him amongst the darkness and chaos. The room was full of powerful objects, all of which interfered with his perception in an infuriating way.

“The blood of a Knight. Won’t that just be…delicious? I know Magnus had plans for you, Dean, something about leading a raid on Hell alongside your brother, but you’ll be far more useful in this way. You want to help your brother, don’t you? Of course you do. It will be the most potent cocktail in the history of creation, Sam. You’ll be the most interesting sort of thing, with the bloods of a demon Lord, a King, a Knight and a Prince, all swimming around inside you. You won’t be Sam anymore, I can tell you that. You’ll be power. Just pure, terrible, vicious power. And don’t worry. I’m not going to kill the angel. I’m going to let him watch. Once you are set upon the throne of Hell, I will tear out each of his wings to present to you as my fealty sacrifice, and he can serve at your table, a constant reminder of how much stronger you are than even Heaven itself.”

“All right, nut job! Back off the angel. If you think my brother’s just going to let you mix him a cocktail, you’re a lot stupider than I was lead to believe. Oh, and your buddy? Crowley? Yeah, he’s aware of your little commitment issues.”

Castiel’s Grace spread in all directions, allowing him sensory knowledge of the room’s layout, objects and, at last, Sam and Dean. He felt Dean first, and found him filled with shaking, epic rage but undamaged. His Mark was burning with wrath, but there was nothing Castiel could do for that. Instead, he pressed out further, and his heart leapt as his Grace brushed directly against Sam’s soul.

He could hear Sam gasp in surprise.

The angel could feel Malphas turn to Sam then. “Well, isn’t this the most defiant little angel you’ve ever seen? He’s wearing a broken meat suit, fueled by the most distorted Grace I’ve ever seen, one that won’t even protect him from a broken leg, and I’m well aware of the crippling pain he should be in after that incident we shared earlier, when I sent him spinning back into his vessel from another plane. He has been blinded. I’ve told him what I shall do to him. And yet he still insists on defying me. Stubborn, defiant, stupid little bird till the last. Well, now, Dean, he’s practically a Winchester, wouldn’t you say?”

“Leave him alone!” Dean screamed. Castiel could hear him roaring, knew he was fighting to peel himself from the wall. Had he possessed the First Blade, he likely would have succeeded in doing so. Without it, he was simply wasting his energy on anger.

It was Sam’s voice which stayed the demon’s hand. “Malphas, stop. I command you to stop.” The voice was shaking, unsure. Then it gained strength. “I am to be your master, your King, and you will obey me.”

Castiel felt something very interesting change in the dynamic between the human and demon. There was suddenly a strange hesitation on the part of Malphas. He took the opportunity to heal his own leg, and blinked from one side of the enormous room to the other to get to Sam. In the instant it took for Malphas to move again, Castiel managed to touch Sam, then flashed again to Dean’s side to grasp his shoulder, releasing them each from the demon’s binding force. With one last burst of power, he sent himself back to Sam and lay on his hands, before he felt the sudden hot pain in the base of his skull.

It was immediately silent, so far as the angel could tell. Jimmy Novak’s neck had been pierced from behind, just below the first cervical spinal nerve if Castiel was correct, by a blade of great power. It was not an angel blade, certainly, but it was a dagger which had drawn so much blood from so many mages over the millennia that it was permanently laced with poisonous black magic. It would only ever serve Malphas at its fullest potential, but in the hands of this familiar, it was nearly so powerful as an angel blade or the First Blade itself. Had it been placed anywhere else, Castiel might have been able to heal this vessel. But as it was, he could not move to do so, and the Grace was not healing him automatically.

He was falling, crashing, without any ability to slow his descent. It was a sensation with which he was achingly familiar.


	15. From the Darkness

Sam’s command to Malphas had the desired effect. The demon had hesitated, only for a moment, but just enough. He knew better than to expect Malphas to obey him, but there was just enough doubt to create a distraction which his angel could use to his advantage. _Get out, Cas_ , he wanted to scream. _Take Dean and get out of here!_

But instead, he found himself watching as Castiel moved, not to leave, but to save him. His recent feed allowed him to see the angel in motion, and he felt his breath catch in his throat at the beauty of it. Castiel’s eyes went bright blue as his leg shone with light, then he leapt to his feet only to blur toward him. With the blinding spin of a soldier in a knife fight, the angel’s hand brushed Sam’s forehead, somehow releasing him from Malphas’s hold, then he was spinning off to do the same for Dean. The movement was so fast and so graceful that Sam’s brain had trouble processing it, and he knew Dean could not see him at all. Castiel was a flurry of black and pale, with a searing blue taking Sam’s breath away. He had never seen anything move so fast, and the entire dance had lasted only a fraction of a second before he felt strong hands on his own face.

The healing from the blood magic had been tainted. He had not realized it before, but now that he felt the purity of Castiel’s touch, the strength and love it conveyed, he could feel how corrupt, how deformed the healing from before had been, degrading and perverting his very flesh into the monster Malphas wanted him to be. He could feel evil untwisting from his wounds, could feel the burning, which had gotten steadily more agonizing the longer he was in this place, cooling. The relief was immediate. He felt a gash at his face, where Castiel had touched him, seal properly, just as the angel made a noise he had never heard before.

For the second time in hours, Sam’s heart was cleaved in his chest. He watched Castiel fall to Malphas’s blade. He could feel Dean moving toward Malphas, could hear him screaming, but his vision was entirely filled with black wings. Enormous, unspeakably beautiful, somehow both feathers and pure energy, and black-very, very black. Not demon black like Malphas, like darkness and horror. Castiel’s wings were black as warm nights with no moon were black, like good coffee and strong boots, like grease on Dean’s hands when he worked on his beloved black Impala, black like everything good and safe in the world, black. Black like a hole never to be filled in the heart of a man who had always tried to be good enough for an angel.

“No,” Sam breathed. The wings were spreading, beyond Dean’s perception, surely, but as clear as day to Sam himself. Castiel’s blue eyes were dimming, and with all his last remaining strength, he slid his gaze to look on Sam, and smile. An intense heat burst through the room, and the scorched outline of wings extended the entire length of it. Sam took in his breath, and raised his hands to reach out for his angel.

All movement in the room around him ceased aside from his own strangled sob. Startled, he looked around him to find his brother flying at Malphas, one hand on the familiar’s wrist to deflect the blade, and the other about to collide with the demon’s face. But there was no movement.

Sam whirled back to Castiel’s body prone on the floor. “Cas, what do I do?” he screamed.

The voice which responded would have been the last he would have expected. It was inside his head, like before, and it was real. _What do you do?! You stupid, bloody giant pain in my ass! What the Hell do you think you do? You kill Malphas, you moron!_

The man frowned deeply, only vaguely aware of his power surging beneath his skin. He looked at Malphas, then at Castiel’s body. “No,” he said again. He reached his hand out to the demon as if to exorcise it. Instead, he pulled not the demon from this familiar but its magic.

_How are you doing that? Moose? Moose, what are you doing?_

Demon blood enabled him to extract demons. Magical demon blood enabled him to extract magic from demons. The Men of Letters could write volumes on this, Sam thought absently. His mind was foggy, as if he were pushing through a migraine. It reminded him of the headaches he had after his psychic visions so long ago, after the intensity was gone and all that remained was the weary, relentless ache. It was not until he felt the blood trickling from his nose and ears that he realized it was not a stream of tears flowing from his eyes. Blood was everywhere. He was grateful that he had somehow stopped his brother in his tracks, so that Dean would not be witness to whatever it was instinct was allowing him to do, and whatever it was that was doing to him.

Sam kept one hand reached toward Malphas’s familiar, stealing his power, feeling it flow into him. It was too much, utterly too much, and Sam knew without a doubt that it would soon split him apart. His human body was not meant to handle this power. No matter that he was a vessel for an archangel, no matter that he was filled with the blood of a demon Prince, the power was too much. Still, he drained Malphas of it mercilessly, and turned to glance at his angel with love sparkling through the film of blood in his eyes.

He lifted another hand, this time not clenched into a fist as the one feeding from Malphas, this time as if he would caress the angel with the lightest of touches. He closed his eyes then, straining to use magic he did not understand in a way that seemed impossible. He had to be not just a conduit for the magic, but a filter as well. He had to filter the taint and transfer only the power. He had no idea how to do this, but he would. Somehow, he would make this work.

The power streamed from his open palm slowly, cleanly. As it came in to him from Malphas, it was a horrible stench, a greenish black, smoky ooze. As it left him, there was only light. It was the worst pain he could recall, as the evil was filtering through him, tearing through him. But no matter what it did to him, he would allow only light to touch his angel.

After a moment of extreme agony, he could feel how literally his body was splitting apart. Just as he could hold on to this flow no longer, he watched his angel’s scorched wings filling with definition, taking on the black iridescence of feathers instead of the burnt ash. Sam could see the wings in all their majesty now, and his heart exploded as he saw one flicker with life.

It was all he could do, and he prayed it would be enough. With a final breath, Sam dropped to the ground unconscious, and his brother flew into action.


	16. In Dean's Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mark has blinded Dean to everything other than vengeance and glorious gore. It isn't until far too late that he realizes something is very, very wrong.

Dean’s fist connected with the false face of Malphas, and to his utter shock, the avatar collapsed under his force. Part of him was simply trying to create a distraction for Sam to help Castiel, but most of him just really wanted to wreck this horrible thing that was threatening Sam and his angel, threatening to debase and pervert the best chance his little brother had for happiness with his sick, twisted plan. The promise of Castiel’s wings being torn from his back and presented to some wicked, macabre thing that used to be Sam…It had made Dean’s stomach seize and his Mark burn. He had been unable to see how bad Castiel had been hurt, but it could not have been good, judging by the bastard’s lurid smirk.

This demon was powerful, entirely too powerful, and if Castiel had been ejected from this game, his team should have no chance. But as the demon’s familiar fell to the ground when Dean’s blow crashed into his face, the hunter realized that something had changed. Somehow, the odds had been evened; he could sense it. Then, for the briefest moment, his peripheral had caught the image of scorched wings, and his mind snapped with the knowing.

_Cas dead, Cas dead!_

Actually dead this time. He had never seen Castiel’s wings, not in any of the times he had lost him, all the times he thought this was finally it for the stupidly defiant, endlessly stubborn, powerful and wonderful angel. They were gone from his vision now, but he had seen them, had seen the end of Castiel, and this demon was going to pay.

Dean sprang in a full frenzy onto Crowley’s sectary, his mind completely given over to the Mark.  _Cas dead! Sam hurt, Cas dead!_ Every syllable crashing into his brain was the punctuation of his fist slamming into the familiar, breaking his knuckles and fingers and skin, but also breaking the beast’s teeth and bone and will. He could hear himself screaming, and for the first time, no one was there to make him stop. Sam was down, crumbled over Castiel’s body, and there was no one to rip him down off the edge. He did not even bother with his weapon, and every time the demon attempted to move, Dean lay into him with another series of murderous blows.

There would be no exorcism, no way to return from this. The Knight had made his choice. He was not so human as Sam would want, but dammit he was a hunter, he was the Righteous man, he was John Winchester’s son, and if he was a Knight, it was not a Knight of Hell, it was a Knight of Humanity. This thing of Hell, this demon who had destroyed his friend and ripped the heart out of his brother, he would not allow it to crawl back to lick its wounds. Crowley had let him in on a little secret, had betrayed Malphas as the Prince had betrayed his King. Malphas, it seemed, was entirely unable to smoke out of his familiar. He was tethered to his familiar in a way that he could not be when possessing a human. He was trapped in this form, and Dean was utterly devoid of mercy. There would be no exorcism. There would be no more Malphas.

The man had no idea why Malphas was not casting, not spitting spells at him, not ripping him to pieces with his magic. But it did not matter. The thing was strong, but Dean did not feel a single blow, only the fire raging through him as he thrashed, delighting in the blood, thrilling in the destruction. There was none of the finesse of the adept hunter trained by a military survivalist. There was only wrath, only fury and the delicious feeling of breaking.

Malphas was an unrecognizable stain, reminiscent of a shape-shifter’s slipped skin, by the time Dean sat back on his heels, panting in ecstasy. Yet he could see the thing still staring at him through one eye, and a foot was still twitching from where it lay at a nasty, gruesome angle behind him. Dean’s lips curled into a hateful sneer, and he finally reached for Sam’s blade. There was barely even a flicker of power, and no scream, as the demon died.

_Bring me his familiar’s head._

Dean was too exhausted to even be startled by the voice. “Ain’t much left to bring,” he rasped hoarsely, his throat wrecked from the screams of ire and pleasure.

_Dean. The familiar’s head is valuable to me. And his hands._

His nostrils flared, and he shook himself, trying to see clearly again. “Come get it yourself, you asshole.”

_If I could be there, I would be. Only Malphas could have withstood that warding, and only because he was manifested as a familiar at the time. Need I remind you-_

“Need I remind you,” Dean said in a voice so quiet that even he could not hear it, “that I ain't one of your henchmen. I’m here for Sammy. You want your trophies, the thing’s hands and feet, and his liver too, you come and get them. I don’t answer to the King of Hell.”

_You ungrateful little prat! What do you think you’re doing?_

“I told you, Crowley. Whatever I want. Now get out of my head.”

_You think you’re just going to pop back onto this plane without my help, you-_

“Oh no. You’re going to bring us back. And that’s why I’m not going to kill you the minute we get there. I’m going to give you a head start. You decide not to help us finish this, get Sam home safe, Cas’s body back down there, and you will be the next thing on my list to hunt. You know I can. And you know I will.”

There was silence.

Dean looked back at the mangled body before him, and it suddenly occurred to him what Crowley had said. “The head is valuable? And the hands?”

_Yes, Squirrel. I would not let them be found by someone like Magnus._

He nodded quietly. “All right. First of all, there is no one like Magnus. He’s going to cease to exist the moment I arrive back in Normal-ville. Second, what the hell would you even use it for? Spellwork?”

For a moment, Crowley was quiet too. Then his voice whispered into his mind again, as if saying something Crowley really did not want to say. _There is no demon who would not recognize that as Malphas, you brute. If I should display his hands and head, it will be a warning to all others to leave the Winchesters alone. Displaying the head and hands of a familiar is a symbol of having completely conquered a Prince, that nothing of that demon’s power can yet remain. It would be forbidden even to speak his name. From then on, he would be known as The Winchester Kill, just as Abaddon is. Just as the other Knights are called The Adamson Kill for Cain. And once I’ve displayed Malphas…What Sam did to his magic, and what you did to his familiar…Not another demon with a fraction of useful intelligence would approach you two after that._

Dean could not believe what he was hearing. He squinted down at the body, still trying to shake his head clear of the effects of the Mark. “You’re…you’re talking about protecting us? Warning other demons off us?”

_Don’t get all emotional. I’d hate for this to end in a circle jerk with your brother._

“You’re still an asshole.”

_And you’re still an idiotic, denim-clad nightmare. Are we finished with this truly inspired banter? I do have a realm to run._

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll tell you when we are ready.”

Crowley did not bother to respond. Dean grabbed a bag from Magnus’s table, emptied it unceremoniously onto the floor, and packed it full with pieces of the familiar, wondering if he would live to regret it.

But when he looked across the room at the figures heaped on the floor, his mind finally free of its fog, he realized with alarm that Sam was not simply kneeling and mourning his dead angel. In fact, that dead angel was holding Sam’s head in his own lap, stroking the man’s hair and weeping in quiet, wretched sobs.

Dean stared. “Cas? You…you’re not dead?”

Castiel’s blue eyes lifted with great effort to meet his gaze. “He won’t heal,” he croaked. “I’ve tried again and again, and he just won’t heal!”

The desperation in the angel’s voice slammed into Dean’s chest. For the first time in several long minutes, Dean’s Mark was silent, and his heart was filled with fear. “What? What happened? Cas? I saw you go down, man, saw your freaking wings burn out, and he was all right! You’d healed him, I saw you, and he was all right! What the hell just happened?” he shouted through his shredded throat.

The angel continued to weep, unable to explain through his grief.

“Cas!” Dean growled again. “Cas, is he?” He threw himself down beside the two, and grabbed at Sam’s face. The moan that choked out of his brother’s lips broke his heart at the same time as it relieved him to hear it. “He’s alive, Cas! He’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let him die! I swear. Jesus, Cas, help me get him back to Crowley and Jody.”

Castiel just looked at him sadly. Dean stared at him as streams of tears flowed down his gray face unchecked. “You don’t understand, Dean.” He took a horrible, shuddering breath, and the broken, helpless sound of it chilled Dean to his marrow. “He’s not dying, Dean,” he rasped. “But he’s not Sam. Not anymore.”

Dean’s eyes flashed with fear. “What the hell does that mean?” he roared.

“He saved me, resurrected me, pieced me back together with everything in him that was good. All that remains now is what that demon soaked into him. I can’t let you take him back with you, Dean.” The heartbroken hiccough, the small gasps, tore at Dean’s very soul. “I can’t. That promise I made to you? I can’t let Sam be this. I can’t. Sam is gone, and this thing that remains…” The sobs wracked through the angel’s body, pulling him apart from the inside. “It can’t be allowed to live. Sam would never allow it to live.”

“No,” Dean whispered. “It wasn’t supposed to be him. Cas, it wasn’t supposed to be him!”

Castiel nodded miserably. “But it was always him, wasn’t it? Today has been chasing him his whole life. You, Dean, you say it wasn’t supposed to be him, but do you think you were ever meant to bear the Mark? Of the two of you?”

Rage and denial flowed through the hunter then, and he stood to stumble away from his friend. “Don’t you say that! Don’t you say anything like that! Sam would never have let this Mark-don’t you say that!”

Castiel’s hand grabbed his, and he could feel the sweet cool Grace flowing through him, healing wounds he had not even felt, and calming the panic in his throat. He dropped to the ground again, and began to sob, letting Castiel pull him in to rest his head on the angel’s shoulder. After a moment, he sighed. “Crowley, pull him down now.”

_He’ll kill me if I do._

“No. He won’t. No matter how much he’d like to, he knows you saved his brother.”

Dean frowned, and opened his mouth to speak again, but a force plucked him from this place to drop him onto the ground next to a lake, surrounded by friends and death. He crawled on all fours for a few feet in a random direction, then vomited the contents of his stomach, and continued to retch for several minutes after there remained nothing left.


	17. At Sognefjord

Castiel waited patiently for Sam’s eyes to open. His wings were heavy like never before. There was none of the pride left to hold them with dignity. No one could see them here anyway. He let them rustle limply against the tree, welcoming the coolness of the grass and the brush of the bark on feathers. He welcomed any external stimulation to keep him from simply fading, letting his Grace and self just diffuse into the atmosphere, letting his misery carry him away on the wind until there was nothing left that was Castiel. Just as he feared there might be nothing left that was Sam Winchester.

He leaned his head against the tree, his hand in constant motion brushing Sam’s hair from his face. He let his fingers thread through the hair lovingly. It had never been appropriate for him to do this before, but he allowed himself the privilege now. Even in his exhaustion, he found himself speaking to Sam. His eyes were closed, his fingers sifting through soft hair, letting himself pretend for just a moment that this had been their first visit to Sognefjord, that the kiss had gone as he had hoped, and Sam was simply lying in his arms in a peaceful sleep, safe in Castiel’s strong arms, where nightmares could never reach him.

“Your wings would have been this brown,” Castiel speculated softly. “Had you been an angel, your wings would have been this beautiful, soft brown that hit the sunlight with gold streaks. Every angel in the Host would have stopped to stare as you passed by, like they haven’t since Lucifer was among us. Your wings would have taken the breath of even Gabriel.” Not that Gabriel breathed, of course, but it was symbolism. He had learned from Metatron’s crash course in literature that it was often unnecessary to be literal. “And you never would have seen me. I would never have had the courage to speak to you; outside the humming that we all share constantly, you would never know me at all. But I would know you. I would listen for your voice as I heard no other. Those wings would humble me every time I made an excuse to see you. I would never have spoken to you, never have let you see me. You would have been the most beautiful angel, my love. Far too beautiful for me. So I’m so grateful you aren’t an angel, that you are what you are, and that I've known you.”

The man’s head rolled on his neck, but he did not awaken. Castiel glanced at him, then leaned back with eyes closed again. His hand continued, every nerve in the angel’s human vessel working to memorize the feel of Sam’s hair and face, his stolen, broken Grace caressing it as surely as that unworthy hand. Castiel truly had nothing of his own with which to touch Sam, except his own sorry wings. And try as he might, the wings were embodying all of his misery and helplessness, and he could not make them wrap around his human.

“Sam, I would have found a way to make you happy. No one knows more than I just how the universe and nearly everything in it has conspired to keep you and your brother from happiness. But I would have made it my only mission. I’m a creature of duty and though I may be clumsy in most things, I will never, ever abandon my post. That may seem ironic, as I chose disobedience from Heaven. But I know now as I never understood before that Heaven’s orders were never for me. My Father must have known what I was, must have made me in this way for some reason. Humans enjoy free will, Sam, and they choose their paths, but angels are not meant to do so. I was made this way with a purpose. My Father must have known what disobedience Lucifer was capable of, and cut me of the same cloth. He loved Lucifer as He loved none other, even in spite of his transgressions, and I cannot believe He had no plan for me. I may not have done just as He wanted me to do, but I do know this. I have always been intended for this. For you. My mission has always been that, eons before I knew it. I have been created for no purpose more than protecting and adoring you.”

A flare of anger sparked in Castiel’s heart, and his eyes opened. He stared bitterly into the lake, seeing nothing.

“I’ve done a fine job of it, haven’t I? How many times have we lost you, Sam? How many times have we pulled you back from death, and how much pain have you endured? I won’t let Dean do it again. And I won’t do it to you myself. If you’re meant to be finished, Sam, I will not drag you back. Dean’s selfishness, my own, we cannot do it to you again. Your brother would never let you go, because he loves you too much. But I cannot make you stay, because I love you too dearly.”

He breathed in the cool air, and could smell the sweet musk of Sam.

“If you’re finished with this life, Sam, the best I can do for you is to keep your soul from Crowley’s realm. With the taint of Malphas on your soul, even I would not be able to take you into Heaven. It would destroy your soul even to try. If this is your end, Sam, I will do what an angel is never meant to do, and I will entrap your soul, to snuff it out before it can be taken to Hell.”

His pink tongue pushed over his lips with a weariness no angel should ever feel. But that was him, wasn’t it? What an angel should never be. Unlike any angel of any time before, far more defiant than Lucifer himself, far less a son than any who ever followed Michael. It was just as well that he would complete this one act of extreme blasphemy in the extinguishing of Sam’s soul as his own last act. Because it would be his last act.

“I won’t live without you, Sam. I won’t live having felt your body die on my lap and your soul crushed in my hands. That most beautiful of all human souls, and I will end it so that, if you cannot know peace you can at least be free of pain. But I cannot continue, not as an angel, not as a man, knowing I’ve done such a thing to you, who I love more than-help me-more than my Father Himself.” His sob caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard. “I just want you to open your eyes, to speak to me, and remove all doubt from my mind that it is what I must do. That there is truly nothing left of the Sam I love, the Sam my best friend loves. Because if there is even the slightest spark of that man left, Sam, please, I can’t do it.”

_It wasn’t supposed to be him!_

Dean’s words had echoed in his mind for half an hour, slamming concussions through him as though Dean himself were fighting from within his skull.

“No, Dean. It was supposed to be him. But I was supposed to save him. Just as we saved you from being lost to us forever, I was supposed to save Sam. And I failed you just as surely as I have failed Heaven and my Father, and as surely as I have failed the man I love. I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Movement drew his eyes down to Sam, and his heart began to beat out of rhythm. He was filled with the most intense fear he had felt since that horrible moment when he realized he would disobey Heaven. His wings began to tremble as they had never done before, even when he had stared down Lucifer from within a circle of holy flames, and stated for all of Heaven to hear, “You are not taking Sam Winchester. I won’t let you.”

The movement was subtle, but it broke Castiel’s heart to see it. Sam’s lips parted gently, and the angel wanted desperately to move his own mouth to cover them, to feel Sam one last time and stall, to keep alive the fantasy that Sam simply slept peacefully.

Yet he resisted. His own blue eyes watched with dread as Sam’s eyes opened and slowly focused. The hazel orbs flitted over the surroundings, and Sam hurried to push himself to sitting. “The lake,” he breathed hoarsely.

Castiel stared at him in shock. “You remember the lake?”

To the angel’s utter astonishment, Sam nodded and smiled. “Of course I remember. This is where you kissed me.” His eyes lowered, and the soft smile became sad but did not fade. “So I’m dead? I’m not surprised this is my Heaven. That’s all right. If I can just be here and remember you, if I can pretend you’re really with me, I’ll be fine. It’s not a bad way to spend eternity, remembering your kiss. I only wish I didn’t have to remember pushing you away.”

What was left of Castiel’s heart burst with the thought that Sam would recognize this place, this sacred place where their lips first touched, as his own personal Heaven. “You’re alive,” he whispered, and before another syllable was uttered, he crumbled to the grass, wings falling uselessly over him, and sobbed. The sobs wracked his whole body, and if he had not been so distraught he might have felt several of his feathers shake loose under stress.

“Cas?”

He could not lift his head. The relief and exhaustion, the heartache, was like a gravity of its own. It was impossible to stop the shaking, to ease the sobs that wheezed out of him. He could not even respond to Sam.

At last, he felt a warm hand on the back of his neck. “Castiel? Are you all right?”

The sobs hiccoughed into breathless laughter. The tears streamed down his cheeks and poured onto the grass below. “I will never be all right again,” he rasped.

The large hand on his neck pushed down his back until they were stroking over his tormented wings. “Cas? Is this all right? Can I touch them?”

Finally, he was able to lift his head, and he could feel his wings flowing out behind him, over Sam’s head. He remained on his hands and knees, but he turned his head enough to be able to look at Sam through red, swollen eyes. “What did you say?”

Sam, looking healthier and happier than he could remember ever seeing him, reached for his face with that one hand, to touch his cheek softly. “Your wings, Cas. I really would love to touch them.”

The realization that Sam could not only see but feel his wings shocked him into sitting straight up. “Sam, you’re alive,” he repeated unnecessarily, as if his mind could not stay on topic, could not catch up with the reality.

The hunter shrugged. “If you say so.”

His head tilted in confusion. “Sam, why is it that you never quite believe that I am actually with you? You always seem to assume I am a hallucination of some sort.”

Sam was smiling at him, and looking eagerly at the black wings in the air around him. “You’re the one who’s surprised I’m alive.”

“Sam, how are you alive?”

He received a frown then, as though Sam were trying to remember why both of them expected him to be dead. “Magnus,” he murmured. “And Malphas.”

Castiel waited, watching him, feeling anxious for reasons he did not understand. He still did not know why Sam had been able to survive the infusion of evil magic without losing himself completely.

He was nodding slowly. “Right.” Instead of speaking aloud, he simply opened his left fist, which had been clenched tightly around an object for some time. “Found it in Magnus’s collection.”

The angel stared in shock at the object in Sam’s hand. He reached out to touch it, then drew his own hand back. “Qafsiel,” he murmured. “I have not known that name for…many years.”

Sam shrugged, almost shyly. “I knew it right away. It has your symbol on it. I knew if there was anything in that psycho’s museum could help me, it would be this.”

There was no way to properly express his love for this man, so his blue eyes simply stared into him with adoration. “You know my symbols?”

“Of course I do. Cas, it’s kind of my job to know things like that.”

He nodded, finally lowering his gaze. That made sense.

“And even if it weren’t?” Sam smiled at him with obvious love. “Castiel, I want to know everything about you. I’ve wanted to know everything about you since the moment I met you. So, yes, when I saw your symbol on this amulet, I knew if I had any weapon available to me, it would be this. It’s meant to protect a good and faithful man from his enemies. Isn’t it?”

Castiel’s wings fluttered out in pride. His heart was full to bursting with that, his most constant sin, and he could do nothing to quell it. Angel of temperance, they said of him, yet there was no moderation in this swell of pride at having played the crucial role in protecting his human. The fact that Sam referred to this amulet as a weapon against his enemies was enough to make the angel smile. “I remember when it was created,” he breathed. “It was so long ago, but it was made by a good man. A very good man. He prayed to me to imbue it with power to protect his newborn son. He tried to flatter me and promise to name his son for me, in exchange for my protection of him. Qafben. It would mean something like Son of Castiel. But instead, I sent to him a bird carrying a stone which I had washed in my own Grace, and he created from it an amulet his son Tobit wore all his life, called it Stone of Qafben, and passed down along generations until it was at last lost. It seems Magnus acquired it somehow. I am glad it now belongs to you.” He looked at the ancient pebble in wonder. “May I?”

“Of course. It’s yours.”

Castiel turned the stone over in his hands many times, looking at markings he had not seen in centuries, feeling the residue of Grace which he had once harbored, which he would never truly be whole without. He could feel something else too, and it made him smile victoriously. “It contains the taint of Malphas,” he confirmed, handing it back to Sam. “It has all been compressed and trapped by the stone, and made impotent, depleted. The evil is still there, but it is completely barren of power. And most importantly, it is no longer a part of you.”

Sam nodded. “It was in me, though. Forever, I thought.”

The angel’s throat worked to swallow his remembered dread. “Yes,” he croaked. “So did I.” He took a breath, and closed his eyes tightly. “Sam, if it had not been for this bauble, I might have had to…I had made the decision to…Couldn’t let you…”

He felt the hand at his face again, and he ventured a look through pained eyes, filled with new tears. “I know. And I’m glad of it. I wouldn’t want to live like that, like Malphas wanted me to be. You would have had no real choice, Cas. Thank you for bringing me here to do it. It’s where I would have wanted to be at the end, here with you.”

Castiel’s legs slowly gave underneath him, and he dropped to the ground again, sitting so hard the tears flew down his cheeks. “Sam, that would have been our end. Together. I could never live having felt your soul die in my hands.”

“May I touch your wings now, Cas?”

The question startled him. He had forgotten. “You can really see them?”

Sam sat on his heels, and reached to the ground to find a discarded feather. “I really can,” he breathed. “Don’t know why, don’t care. They’re beautiful, Cas. I really, really want to touch them. Is that…is that too personal or something?”

The small smile spread across Castiel’s face, and his wings reacted to it as they always did. For so many eons, even when possessing a vessel, Castiel had not shown emotion in his face. The only way another angel would have known he was irritated, mournful, infuriated or felicitous would be by the way he held his wings just very slightly, almost imperceptibly divergent from his usual stoic stance. It was a failing to vent emotion at all, and even though the archangels and many of the choral and messenger angels did so with abandon, for a soldier like Castiel, it was shameful to allow even the slightest flutter of wings to express himself. But since finding himself among humans, he had learned to allow his wings the freedom to pulse out with every emotion he registered, as there would be no witness to it in any case. And now, they floated out in shameless joy.

Pride being his greatest weakness, it rang deep in his heart to hear Sam found his wings beautiful. It was the most unique characteristic for an angel. When he thought of Raphael, it was his blood-burgundy wings that drew dread from his memory. Poor, dear Balthazar’s steel blue and silver feathers would haunt him all his days, the way in some lights they seemed to encompass the entire color spectrum, like a dark dove. Gabriel had been golden from tip to scapular; the angel of justice and the most glorious patron of humanity had been by far the least subtle. Anael’s wings had been speckled white and blue, and he would never admit to how much time he had spent watching hers when no one else could see. These were the images that came to mind for an angel, when he thought of a brother or sister. They recognized one another immediately, through the eyes of any vessel, but in their own forms, it was the wings which gave them away.

“It is personal. Quite personal,” he answered finally, and saw Sam lower his hand. “But I’d like it anyway.”

Sam’s smile was blinding. He took a breath and reached out for Castiel’s primaries with a tender reverence that fascinated the angel. The touch was so gentle, he nearly did not feel it, but it made him twinge with pleasure even so. As tall as Sam was, even standing, he would not be able to reach his coverts, so Castiel bowed at the waist, as though worshiping the man, to give him access to whatever it was he wanted to feel.

He licked his lips in anticipation of Sam’s reaction.

“Cas,” the hunter breathed in a tone which could only be described as sensual, as he stroked the length of the feathers devotedly. “Cas, I never knew it, but this? This is everything I’ve ever wanted. This is real, right?”

Castiel sighed happily. “It is, Sam. Finally.”


	18. Hell's Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fair deal is one in which Crowley comes out on top.

Crowley watched Dean heaving into the grass with very mixed, very human emotions. He had heard what the Angel had said. Sam was still alive. But he had soaked up the dark magic of Malphas. How, Crowley could not even begin to say, but he had known these human pests for long enough to not be surprised by anything they did. He would investigate the mechanics of the thing later, but for now, his former bestie was doing his best to retch out his lung. As adorable and satisfying as that might be to watch, he had little use for a Knight of Hell who was yet human and missing vital organs. He was not ready to have Dean back in black, not yet. That time would come, but today? Today he had other things to attend to.

"Dean!" Garth was shouting. The mutt had not stopped prattling the entire time Dean and his angel had been gone, and Crowley had shown immense patience in not tearing out his intestines to roast them. He watched the thing now, hurrying to his friend's side, and told himself the loathing he felt had nothing to do with Garth trying to comfort a human Crowley had long since claimed for his own.

"Dean?" Jody called. "Where's Sam?"

Crowley had been impressed with the woman's ability to keep her firearm trained on Magnus's head for so long without even a quiver in her hand. He had mentioned it quietly, and to his surprise, she had not snapped at him. "If Dean Winchester tells you not to take your eyes off a monster, you don't. End of story."

"He's a human, you know."

"I've met a lot of human monsters in my time. Sam says you were one once."

"A human, not a monster," he corrected.

"I said what I meant."

He had left her alone after that, and went back to listening to the voices in his blood spell, just as Dean and Castiel arrived at their destination. "Thank you for flying Crowley," he murmured to himself. "Let the turbulence begin."

Now, as he watched Dean swat at Garth angrily, he realized he was the only one who knew what was going on. "Sorry, Sheriff," he sighed. "Moose will not be joining us. And the Angel has left the building. Literally."

Dean shoved Garth aside, stumbling to his feet. "What? What, he's out? Where is he?" He shrieked madly.

"I'm afraid he has left my range of sight."

"Find him!" Dean screamed shrilly. "Get your demons, find him! You got to stop Cas!"

Crowley stared at him. "I'm sorry, what? Stop him? Stop him from preventing the release into the world of a thing that has the blood and essence of Malphas and the anger management issues of a Winchester?"

"That thing is my brother!"

The King raised a hand to toss Dean to the side as he charged him. "Really, Dean. Your little cloud hopper is doing the right thing. For everyone. This thing that is not your brother will not be nearly so cuddly as you were a few weeks ago. He will be nothing more or less than the embodiment of dark magic with a very sharp axe to grind. I'd rather any grinding I do be of my own bloody choosing, don't you? His last imperative was to kill the two of us, in case you're somehow unaware."

"I don't care!"

"And yet strangely, I do." Crowley hooked a finger and the bag Dean had smuggled out flew to his hands. "I'll be taking my Mage and my dead Prince and going now."

Jody looked unsure. "That the plan, Dean? Thought you were killing this guy."

For the first time, Magnus's eyes shot open, and he immediately began gesturing and speaking in a low voice.

His incantation was cut off by Dean's boot connecting with his head.

Magnus curled into himself, holding his head with a wail. "You Neanderthal!"

"You have no idea," Crowley sighed.

"Enough! Crowley, I'm not going to hand you a Man of Letters!"

The King saw the way Dean was watching him, and he smiled sourly. "Sorry, mate. No deal. I'm not going to try putting myself between that 6'4" pillar of alchemical malice and a juiced up angel determined to put him out of our misery, just so I can crack open a bloody Man of bloody Letters!"

Magnus stared at him. "What do you mean crack-"

Dean glowered at him. "Cuthbert Sinclair, meet Crowley, King of freaking Hell. The guy you apparently wanted me to help you raid, probably hoping to find some trinkets."

Crowley smirked wickedly. "Pleased to finally meet while we both have heads. And make no mistake. I like my trinkets."

Magnus looked from one to the other, then at Jody's gun. "Crowley, King of Crossroads demons?"

"The one and only. But please, call me King of Hell. Tacky to refer to someone's former title once they've gotten a promotion. I'm now King of...well, everything."

Magnus was breathing heavily. He looked back at Dean. "You can't let him have me! I-I know things!"

Dean shrugged. "You had Purgatory reject werewolves tear my brother's hamstrings and then you force fed him demon blood. I'm not letting anybody have you. I'm just going to end you," he growled, taking a step toward him.

The man's hand flew up. "No! My soul! Crowley, I'll deal-"

"Okay, I've heard enough." Dean lunged at Magnus, and before Jody could even open her mouth, there came a sickening crack which left Magnus's head lolling uselessly on a splintered neck. Dean closed his eyes for just an instant, and Jody felt a bit ill at the pleasure and relief on his face; then he licked his lips and turned back to Crowley.

The King was shaking his head sadly. "Dean, you are a very poor demon," he sighed. "Wasteful."

Dean raised an eyebrow fractionally. "Where's my brother?" He hissed the question, taking a menacing step toward the demon. Crowley's eyes narrowed in anticipation of a fight.

"Here," came a voice behind them.

Dean whirled toward the angel's voice, teeth bared lividly. Then he stopped short.

The King took a breath. "Hell's bells. Moose, you made it back. Felicitations. That's my cue, then. Coming, darling?"

Jody glared daggers at him.

"Guess not. See you around, boys."

He could hear the Angel shout his name in that rough, brutish voice of his, but he was already long gone. Let the Angel fume. He might not have what he came for, but he had something quite a bit better. Malphas was useful as a follower, but he was far more useful dead. Not only did fealty of his Legions fall squarely and directly upon Crowley, but when he displayed the hands and feet of the Prince as an example of one who had defied him, it was unlikely he would have such a problem in the future. Whether he liked it or not, Malphas would continue to serve his master even after death. Not a bad trade-one quickly replaced general for an eternal warning to all those who might betray him.

"Omelettes. Eggs. Blah blah blah," he whispered to himself.


	19. Back to the Bunker

Garth had hugged the stuffing out of Sam, and because he was in such good spirit, the Hunter let him. He thanked Garth and his family for their role in his rescue, and even used the term “Garthed” to describe what they had done to the hybrids, for which he was rewarded with an enormous smile and another hug. Castiel had healed their injuries gratefully, then Dean had walked them back to their truck to thank them in private.

Sam had turned to Jody then. He had been relieved to see Jody for himself. He threw his arms around her, and clung just as Garth had done to him. "Jody, I didn't know what happened to you-thought..."

"I know what you thought, kid. I was escorted back to Red Cloud by a vampire from that creep's zoo."

Sam cringed, then nodded. “Vampire, huh? Your favorite. Guessing that went badly for the vamp."

"Damn straight it did. This Lettered Man of yours didn't think to disarm a woman. Guess I don't look like the type to strap on a machete inside my coat for a date with a hot young guy. If I could have gotten to it before, we would have been fine. Anyway, I tussled with him and now he's about a head shorter than he used to be."

Sam pulled her in for another bear hug. "That's my girl!" he cried proudly.

"There any other monsters up in that place? Or was he saving a vamp just for me?"

Castiel spoke up then. "I eliminated the remaining dangers in Magnus's collection before vacating the residence. All artifacts which could be safely transported were sent to the safe house Sam and Dean have been using. All others were directed to Heaven's coffers."

"And you just smote the holy hell out of everything alive?” Jody guessed, in a hushed voice.

The Angel frowned. "I suppose a human might say I was...letting off steam."

Sam smiled at him. "Cas, go rest a bit, check on Dean for me."

"Yes, Sam." He looked into hazel eyes for another moment, as if hesitant to allow Sam out of his sight, then turned to do as he was bid.

"So you strap a machete inside your coat?"

Jody unzipped her coat to reveal a hidden arsenal inside. "Among other things. If that son of a bitch hadn't kept me from getting to it, you might have never been hurt, Sam. I'm sorry."

Sam waved that away quickly. "I'm just glad you're okay. You carry that stuff around with you all the time?"

She shrugged. "When I'm around you? Yeah. And after recent events, I'm never without a machete. I'll never sleep with one further than a foot away for the rest of my life. Thanks for that."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're the one keeps finding stuff, Sheriff. We're the ones who tell you how to kill what you find, that's all. You're a worse monster magnet than any Hunter I've ever met."

"I don't think I like knowing that," she mused. "So Castiel. He's pretty."

Sam rewarded her with a shy blush. "Yeah. He is."

"For the record? He's madly in love with you. Like it's ridiculous. If the boy can cook, I'll officiate your wedding myself."

The Hunter laughed quietly, and took her hand. "I don't think it'll come to that. And I doubt he can cook. Makes a good sandwich, but I’m guessing that’s it. But thank you."

"Seriously though, Sam. He loves you. Don't let him fly away."

"I won't. You know, I always had folks I loved who I'd die for. Bobby, my dad, you. And I would die to save civilians, innocent folks. But I think this is the first time someone other than Dean has been worth living for."

Jody squeezed his hand, and reached up to touch the man's face gently. It was something a mom would do, he was sure of it. "Sam, keep yourself safe. I don't care who it's for. There are too many of us who love you."

He nodded. "Thank you, Jody."

"All right. I'm done with this vacation crap. You’re a rotten dinner date, Winchester. Only barely better than Crowley. So if you need to talk again…call me next time.” She gave him a wink, then hugged him before turning back to her truck.

Sam turned to find Dean and Castiel walking side by side to join him. Dean was nodding and staring at his brother ahead of them. The man’s face had been so full of fury when Sam and Castiel had arrived that it had actually scared the younger brother. Now he was holding his arm, as if nursing the Mark, and it worried Sam. But when their eyes met, Dean broke into a handsome smile, as though all was right with the world, and Sam let his worries fall to the wayside to accept one more hug, the most important one.

Dean wrapped his arms around his brother, grabbing at the long hair tightly. It was something he had done since they were kids, as if somehow gripping Sam’s hair was the way Dean checked to make sure his brother was really fine. Silver, holy water, and a hair tug, followed by a beat or two on the back. It was the only way to be absolutely sure Sam was Sam, that Sam was just fine. And strangely, it comforted the younger just as much as the elder.

After the obligatory pounding on Sam’s back, and a gentle, loving pat to the cheek for good measure, Dean finally released his brother. “Cas, I thought I was going to have to hunt your ass.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, he was right. If that stone hadn’t soaked up all that taint, he would have been right to end me.” Castiel looked between the two brothers wearily, waiting for confirmation that Dean was not angry with him any longer.

Dean licked his lips and stared at the ground for a moment. Then he looked up, an eyebrow raised sharply as he held back tears. “Yeah. Okay, I’m glad you feel that way. Because he’s made me a promise. That if my eyes go black again, he’s going to do the same for me. And you’re not to stop him.”

There would never be a time when Sam was allowed to just be happy. The universe did not want that. It was crushing to know it but yet still be surprised every time. Even as Dean seemed to expect every bad thing that happened to them, Sam still got the wind knocked out of him every single time. He nodded slowly. “You would have stopped him if you could have.”

“Yup,” Dean confirmed. “And you’re smarter than me by a mile. So if it comes down to it, you leave him alone, and you don’t blame him for what he’s gotta do. It ain’t going to be easy on him as it is. And fighting against you will only make it worse. Promise me you won’t blame Cas for doing what I need him to do.”

Castiel’s eyes raised to stare into Sam’s, seeking, pleading.

It broke Sam’s heart to see it. He took a breath. “Dean, it won’t come to that. We’ll find a way to rid you of the Mark.”

“Okay. But promise me anyway.”

“Please, Sam. I owe Dean peace, but I won’t be able to bear you hating me.” Castiel’s voice was soft, and he looked as though he was going to be sick.

 _Just tell them what they need to hear_ , Sam scolded himself. _They don’t need to know the whole of it. If that Mark takes Dean again, if Cas has to do that awful work, it won’t be my angel I hate. It’ll be me, for letting it happen. It’s my job to keep that Mark from taking my family again. I won’t rest until I figure it out. But they don’t need to hear that._ “Cas, if my brother ever needs you to help him, I will never stand in the way of that. And I would never blame you for having helped him. He’s my brother, Cas. You’re his guardian. I trust you.”

The breath Castiel took was jagged and expressed a thousand things at once. It spoke of gratitude, relief, guilt and fear, and everything else an angel was not meant to communicate. He closed his eyes, lowered his head and said nothing, and yet Sam understood every word.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean muttered.

“Pie and Jäger?”

A slow smile came across Dean’s face, and Castiel looked up again. “Say that again?” Dean laughed.

“You heard me. Jerk.”

“Bitch.” 

Castiel frowned, and his head tilted slightly. “Jäger is the German word for hunter. I’ve never known you to speak German before. Are we going on another hunt so soon? I would hate to be the one to complain, but some rest might be in order at this point.”

Sam’s tongue brushed his lips, and he smiled fondly at his angel. “You’re right, Cas. No hunt tonight, Dean. Sorry. How about some pie and liquor instead?”

Realization came over Castiel’s face then. “Oh. I see.”

“Taxi us to the bunker, oh feathered one.”

The look Castiel bestowed upon his brother made Sam laugh, but the reminder of his angel’s wings made him blush as well. “Yeah, feathered one,” he said quietly, and the love in his voice was unmistakable. He and Castiel exchanged a smile, and then the angel put his hands on each man’s shoulder, and they arrived just outside the bunker.

The humans headed for the door, but turned back when they realized Castiel had stopped. “Cas?” Dean called in his husky whisper. “You coming?”

“I will. Please, I just need a moment alone with the stars.”

Dean put his hands up. “Whatever, buddy.” He smiled at him then. “You did good, Winchester,” he added, then turned and entered the bunker alone.

Sam watched Castiel’s face light with pride. “Cas, you know that’s about the best compliment he can give you, right? He’s not capable of anything higher than that.”

The angel stared up at the Heavens happily. “There is nothing higher than that, Sam. To be your family, to be one of you, to be permitted to love you and protect you…It is the highest honor there is.”

“Enjoy your stars, angel. But don’t fly away.”

Sam closed the door behind him, and sighed contentedly. It was good to be home.


	20. In Their Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the demons are gone, except for the ones in their heads. Whenever the adrenaline dies down, there's always a hollow dread, as Team Free Will realizes they have to actually deal with their own reality, strange as it is.

Dean tossed his blanket off and bolted from bed. He pulled on his robe, seething with frustration.

When he threw the door open, he nearly walked right into Castiel. "Son of a-Cas! Buddy, you're my wingman, and I love you but I will stab you if you don't stop lurking!"

Castiel looked at him irritably. "I've been stabbed quite a few times. You and your brother have each stabbed me, Dean. With a demon blade and an angel blade. What makes you think it would go differently this time?"

The Hunter shrugged. "When you say it like that..."

"First thing you did when we met in person. You thanked me for saving you from Hell-"

"Then I stabbed you, yeah. I remember." Dean rubbed his eyes. "Come on. I'll get us some coffee and teach you Texas Hold'em."

"Why?"

Dean's hands were shaking. "'Cause I can't sleep when I keep seeing your burned out wings."

This was probably more honest than he had meant to be, and it seemed to shock Castiel to hear it. "I'm sorry, Dean. I wasn't aware..."

"That I got to see your wings scorch up the museum? Yeah. The hell, man. Seriously. What the hell."

"That doesn't seem to be a question," Castiel said quietly.

"It isn't."

Castiel followed his friend to the library, and Dean could feel him watching as he set the coffee to brew and got out a deck of cards. He counted them silently, out of habit more than concern. He was the only one who got up to mess with them at four in the morning.

"Dean," Castiel said quietly, "your insomnia is going to become a problem."

"It ain't a problem yet?" he snapped, bridging the deck and dealing with practiced hands.

Castiel watched him. Damn angel was always watching him.

"Sit, Cas."

"Dean-"

He closed his eyes tightly. "Cas. Please. Sit. Play cards and pretend things are normal."

Castiel lowered himself into a chair. "I don't think I have a good concept of what normal might be."

"Pretty sure I don't either. But let's pretend."

He lay his coat on the chair beside him. "All right. But I've been exposed to many forms of human games, and this..." He pointed at the cards in front of them. "This is not Texas Hold'em."

Dean grinned but did not look up from the game. "How did you get exposed to poker?"

"It isn't a story that paints angels, even good ones, in the best light, and I would rather not say. What is it we are playing?"

"Nope. Uh uh. Spill it."

Castiel sighed and rolled his blue eyes in exasperation. "Sam is not the only one with an exhausting and incorrigible brother."

Dean laughed, and it felt good. "So? Gabriel or Balthazar?"

"I do have other brothers, Dean."

"Yeah. But the others are complete toolbags. They were only mostly douches."

Castiel sighed. "Yahoel. I doubt you've had the occasion to meet him. Joel was one of those Michael tasked with restraining the Leviathans. Since giving them further access to earth was a transgression of my own, I have not sought him out in a long time. I would not like to know what he thinks of me now. His name was not among those who were killed in the Great Fall, but I do not know his location these days."

"Joel, huh? What's he like?"

"He's very loyal. He would have followed Michael till the last. But I think he was secretly as grateful as so many of us that the Apocalypse wasn't...what it was supposed to be."

"Why's that?"

"He and our brothers, the Kiraman, Rajiv and Ativ, were always quite fond of humanity. Rajiv and Ativ were scribes."

Dean felt his lips sneer. "Like Metatron."

"Like Metatron. Joel was their liaison to Heaven. He reported to Michael any news the Kiraman had of interest. This required him to spend much time in the world of humans, where he learned many things. Including games of all sorts."

"Some nerd Angel named Rajiv taught your buddy to play Texas Hold'em?"

"No. Rajiv and Ativ recorded thoughts and feelings of humans. It helped determine where their soul would go after death. And they reported to Joel about the strange thoughts and emotions among addicts. In particular, those obsessed with gambling."

"So your buddy checked into it."

"He did. He learned very quickly that an addiction to gambling was not something Angels are immune to. Quite the opposite, in fact. It turns out that we-that is, some of us-are highly susceptible to the charms of gambling."

"Some of us? You?"

"Not at all. I don't have a compulsive personality."

It was at that moment that Sam wandered in with his hair at odd angles and his eyes red with sleep. Castiel stared openly at him walking through the library in just a pair of pants that pulled double duty for both jogging and sleeping. The Angel stumbled out of his chair and spoke in a stutter. "Sam. Sam, are you-are you all right? Another nightmare? Did we wake you? Do you need-"

"Cas, I'm fine. Just smelled coffee."

"I can help you sleep if you need..."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa. Still in the room, boys. Yeah, Cas, you're right. You've got no addictions whatsoever."

Both his human brother and his Angel-brother narrowed their eyes at him in confusion.

Dean snickered quietly, and collected his deck. "So? Anything you two need to tell me? About anything?"

Sam's face went pale in an instant. "Uh, why? Why would you, you know, ask that?"

Castiel looked at him in concern. "Sam? Is something wrong?"

The older brother smirked at the Angel. "I think my kid brother is afraid to bring you home to meet the family, buddy. Commitment issues. Can't blame him, considering his track record. He's never had to deal with relationships that make it to step two."

"Dean!"

Castiel looked as though he wanted to scold Dean, but was unsure how or for what. "Dean, that's quite callous. Sam was never directly responsible for the deaths of his girlfriends. And you told me his ex-wife remains alive."

Horror filled Sam's face. "Annulled! Cas, it was annulled. Jesus, Dean!"

"I apologize. Ex...girlfriend."

Sam glowered at Dean as he burst into laughter at Castiel's confusion. "Ex-stalker, Cas. Dean, don't tell him stories if you aren't going to include the truth!"

Dean gave him a thoughtful smile. "Hey. Love is love, man. I ain't gonna judge."

The bitchface expressed that Sam had not caught his meaning. "Becky and I were not in love. I was victimized by a demon!"

Dean turned his smile on Castiel. "He's kind of a wreck. You sure you want this guy?"

The Angel stared at Sam with adoration. "With all my heart," he confirmed.

Sam's mouth dropped, and suddenly he seemed very aware of his state of undress.

"Good," Dean said, slapping his hands on the table to lift himself up. "Try to remember to put a tie on the door, gentlemen," he teased as he set his cards back down and exited the room, reveling in Sam's shock.

He went back to his bedroom, and took off his robe. "Castiel," he prayed sincerely, "you take good care of my baby brother. He needs to be happy for once. If you can make my brother happy...well, that's more than anyone has ever been able to do. Make him feel safe, Cas. He deserves to feel safe after all this time."

With that, he opened up his drawer to glance at his photos, holding each one with reverence. "Mom, Dad, I nearly lost Sammy today. I lost my mind today. This thing is coming back for me; I know it is. I know how things are going to end for me, and I want you to know I ain't scared. So long as Sammy is okay, and Cas will watch over him. He'll watch over Cas. Wish you had known Cas. Mom, you would love knowing that an angel is watching over your boys. Dad...well, you'd try to hunt him, but I swear he's a good guy. And for all three of us, I gave him our blessing. He don't need it, but he wants it. And Sam wants it too. So I spoke for all of us. I hope...I've been speaking for all three of us for a long time. I hope I've done it right more than I've gotten it wrong. Dad, I miss you. I love you, Mom."

This time, when he closed his eyes, he did not see scorched wings, or a mirror with black eyes, or a demon handing bloody wings to his soulless brother. He dreamed of his brother staring up at fireworks while Castiel lay on the grass next to him staring at the stars. He himself watched while drinking a beer on the hood of his car far enough away that he could not hear their voices, but close enough to feel content. It was Heaven. Sam was his soulmate, and Castiel shared their Heaven freely, coming and going as he pleased, and staying longer and longer each time. When they felt like company, they joined Ash and Pamela at the Roadhouse, where Bobby would visit whenever his wife let him, and Ellen and Jo served the drinks with free smirks to him and Rufus. It was the Heaven he wanted. He slept through the night for the first time he could remember.

***

Sam stood before Castiel, and awkwardly wished he were not shirtless. He knew how stupid that was. Castiel could see into his mind if he chose to; and anyway, he had nothing to hide from his Angel. Castiel knew the worst parts of him; his chest was hardly the ugliest thing he had seen of Sam Winchester.

He still wished he had a shirt.

"Dean didn't drink the coffee," he murmured, and used the excuse to turn away from that blue stare. He grabbed one of the mugs Dean kept stacked just so by the machine but put it down when he realized how badly his hands were shaking. Two decades of holding a gun with a lethally steady aim, and he was not going to be able to pour coffee without spilling it all over himself. He sighed.

"Is something wrong, Sam?"

He smiled, but even his smile trembled. "Of course not."

"I think you might be lying to me, Sam," he said very quietly. His gravel voice was laced with hurt.

"No, Cas. I'm really not. There isn't anything wrong." He had always tried to be honest with Castiel. He knew how strange human behavior could seem for him as it was, and how confusing his brother could be, especially since lying came out of Dean's mouth as smoothly and frequently as a breath. So he thought for a moment about how to express why he was so anxious.

"Sam?"

"Cas, it's different at that lake of yours. I never want to see Harlan Lake again for the rest of my life, knowing what we know now."

"That Magnus positioned his residence directly over the center of the lake."

"Yeah. The guy was nuts. But that place you took me...you said it's in Norway?"

"Yes."

"That place is amazing. I can pretend we're the only beings on the planet on two legs."

"There are birds there, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. When we were there, it's just us and the world as it should be. Feels like a dream. But I wake up and we're here now, back home, and I don't even know how to...What are we, Cas? What do we do now? Things just go back to normal?"

Castiel sighed gruffly. "If that's what you choose."

Sam's heart fell. "Yeah, I...I guess. I mean. Is it...what you want?"

The angel's head tipped forward, and the gaze lowered wearily. "Sam," he said with a level of fatigue rarely heard in his voice, "I have loved you for years without ever needing anything from you. I'll do as you please now. It won't change what you are to me, no matter how you need me to act."

The Hunter watched him, took in the way the soldier slumped back into his chair, the way his wings hung miserably. Soldier. Always doing what was needed, never what he wanted. "Cas? I want to know. What is it you want?"

The Angel did not move at first. Then he smiled weakly. "I want to give you what you want, Sam. I want you to be happy, to feel safe, and to know I had some small part in that. Sam, when I took your pain from you back at that hospital, when I took on your nightmares, it broke me. I was broken in ways I can't even describe, ways you will never know. You glimpsed it, but only the surface. Eons of repressed emotions attacked me. I never was truly emotionless as I should have been, not in my whole life. I never knew what restraint I had used all that time until I had no means to block it out any longer."

"God, Cas. I'm so sorry."

He smiled, but his eyes were haunted. "I have always been broken, Sam. Flawed. Naomi eluded to just how many times I had to be realigned, times I don't even remember, all because I felt things, doubt and compassion, that I wasn't meant to feel and never understood."

Sam waited when Castiel paused to lick his lips. He moved to sit beside him, and put a hand on his angel's arm.

"I'm a type of Angel, Sam, who never should have felt anything but duty. There are some who are meant to feel joy. Some are meant to know wrath. The archangels, of course, are unlimited. But I was meant for taking orders."

"Cas, I can't believe that's all you were ever supposed to be. You're so much more than that."

"And that's the problem, isn't it?" the Angel laughed bitterly. "My only love should be for Heaven, my only desire should be to fulfill my duties with honor, to glorify my Father in all I do. I am one of Michael's soldiers, created to fight and die at Heaven's command."

"I never thought of you as serving under Michael before."

Castiel looked up. "Of course. Michael was our commander. Anael lead our garrison, and I served as her second, fought beside Uriel and Balthazar and so many others. But highest was Michael." He finally smiled in a way that reached his tired eyes. "I think it might be why I learned to follow Dean so easily. I may argue with him, doubt him, and I have even betrayed him at my darkest. But Dean is my commander as much as he is my friend. It is little wonder to me that Michael fought so hard for him. Had he received Dean's permission, there would have been nothing Michael could not have done. Dean is everything Michael should have been, just as you are everything Lucifer could have been, had he chosen his nature of light instead of his vengeance."

Sam shook his head in wonder at his angel's words, but remained silent.

"When I took your pain," he said again at length, "it opened me up to every emotion I have fought against, screened out, over my whole lifetime. I will never know why it did not kill me. But I can tell you that the moment my own walls collapsed, that was the moment I could not prevent myself from loving you."

A small noise similar to a gasping sob crept from Sam's throat, but he did not even hear it. He thought for a moment he might not be able to breathe again, but then his lungs contorted, shoving his air out all at once and rushing to fill again.

"Sam, please. I don't mean to hurt you. Or scare you. I will never try to push you into anything you don't want to be, to take anything you don't want to give. I just want you to know how hard I have tried and how completely I have failed to push back these feelings. No matter what you choose, even if you tell me to go and never return, I will never be able to not love you. That possibility has been dead to me for a very long time. You should know that. And now that you know, I'll wait for you to tell me what you want me to do."

Sam watched in silence as Castiel stood, folded his coat over his arm, and left the room without another word.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a tear race down his cheek. He honestly did not know what he wanted from Castiel. But he knew exactly what he did not want.

"Cas!" he called desperately. "Don't go!"

There was a moment when he thought he might not have heard. Then the blue eyes appeared in the doorway again, full of love in the most heartbreakingly hopeful way.

"Tell me what you need, Sam," he breathed, and the man could hear years of pain dripping from the words.

Sam pushed a smile onto his face, even while the tears kept coming. "I need you," he croaked out finally. "Please, Castiel, I need us."

The angel's eyes flashed a brilliant blue with Grace for just an instant, and then they closed in relief. "Sam, may I kiss you?"

Sam's lips were on his before the request was complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Through dark and light, blessed be.  
> Love is love, may it flow free.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments are good as Grace!
> 
> ~Posing


End file.
